


After Midnight

by dante_kent



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Shameless Big Bang, Slow Burn, fairy tale AU, for serious kids settle in, magic and mayhem and all sorts of fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 47,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dante_kent/pseuds/dante_kent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gallaghers are just trying to get through each day, but when the palace announces that the king is throwing a festival and all are invited, life in the Gallagher cottage takes a surprising shift. Cue princes, giants, and quite a bit of magic - which is unreliable at best, and dangerous when it falls into the wrong hands. </p><p>A quasi-Into the Woods AU with adventure, heartbreak, romance, and whatever happens after the happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my entry for the 4th round of the Shameless Big Bang! And my very first attempt at a big bang of any sort...which is probably why I took on way more than I realized and didn't finish in time. Whoops. But part two of this will be out very soon - it's mostly written, but today is my posting date and I didn't want to delay my artist, who has created the most incredible companion piece to this fic (to be linked here soon). So here it is, Part One of After Midnight. Enjoy, and stay tuned for Part Two!

Ian is sitting in a tree, and the sun is rising.

He feels the scrape of bark against his forearms as he leans on a branch, the sound loud in the morning stillness. This high up, he can see for miles, from the open field behind the Gallagher cottage to the thick tangle of woodland that extends beyond, the green of the ancient trees getting deeper and denser until it spills across the horizon, almost black where it meets the red-tinged warning of the rising sun.

He’d snuck out about an hour ago, craving fresh air and space after another night in the cramped quarters of the boys’ room. He’d been restless again last night, unable to settle with the noises of Carl’s shuffling, Liam’s sleepy snuffles, and the standard creaking of the old house surrounding him. He had crept out at the first hint of light, eager for some quiet before the bustle of the day began.

This tree is his favourite, the tallest in the cluster of trees stationed midway between the cottage and the woods beyond. He comes here sometimes, as he has since he was little. He can climb higher now, his long limbs reaching the branches easily when once he’d had to jump from Lip’s shoulders for a chance at gaining purchase. The trunk of this tree is carved with markers from their youth, each line denoting the highest point he and Lip had reached in their attempts. He knows there’s a mark at the very top, an I & L engraved into the soft bark above. That was years ago now, the last physical evidence of their adventures here. There isn’t anywhere higher to climb. Not without going into the woods.

The sun is beginning to rise higher, light inching across the field below Ian’s dangling feet. He turns to look at the Gallagher cottage, standing alone in the quiet landscape. He can see a few worn areas in the thatched roof, just beginning to crumble. He and Lip will have to patch those before the rains come.

A bird begins to chirp somewhere to his left, and the trees around him flutter with answering calls. The world is stirring, and Ian’s stolen interlude is over. He hoists himself down a few branches before jumping the rest of the way, feet landing in the grass with a muffled thunk. He takes one last glance at the woods, still shadowy, the sun’s rays unable to pierce through the thickness of the trees. Then he turns to walk towards the cottage, the morning blooming around him.

He lets himself in through the back door, the old wood dark and slightly warped with age. Fiona is there as he pulls the door shut behind him, sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She looked exhausted, as always, and Ian doubts she’d slept much last night either. She looks up at his entrance and smiles at him through her fatigue.

“Morning, sweetness. Want some tea?”

“Sure.” Fiona starts to rise from the table, but Ian throws a hand out, gesturing for her to stay put. “I’ll get it.” He grabs his mug before lifting the kettle from the fire, pouring himself a cup and refilling Fiona’s. She smiles at him gratefully, and Ian returns the kettle to the hearth and sits down across from her.

They drink their tea in silence for a few minutes, allowing themselves a final moment of peace before the rest of the household awakes. As soon as the kids are up, Ian knows Fiona will be moving non-stop, scrounging breakfast up from what little they have before setting each sibling up with their task for the day. Fiona is a force, ruling their house and finding a new way for them to survive every day, no matter how implausible the continued existence of the perennially poor and incurably overpopulated Gallaghers may seem. He knows their neighbors talk about them, hears the whispers in the village as he passes by – how they have no business being so many, how irresponsible it is to have so many children in such a small house on land that has no steady income. Ian dreams sometimes about turning around and confronting them, silencing them with his insistence that they _know_. They didn’t choose to live like this, didn’t choose to live at all. But they were born despite it all, and now that they’re here, they’re staying. Fiona makes sure of that. Ian looks at her, sees the dark circles under her eyes, and wishes he could help her more, wishes so badly that he could tell her to go and live and have fun and be young. But he can’t. They’d be lost without her.

Ian hears movement from the next room, and sure enough, a moment later, a bleary-eyed Carl comes stumbling out, heading straight for the cabinet where the meagre remains of last night’s dinner are stored. Ian sees that shift, witnesses the exact moment Fiona springs into action, that determination firing up behind her eyes. She stands swiftly and marches towards the counter, gathering eggs and crockery to begin breakfast. A few minutes later, Debbie slumps out of the girls’ room, as if summoned by the clink of dishes.

The morning routine takes over then, as each sibling adopts a job to help start the day. As the eggs begin to sizzle, Ian ducks into the boys’ room to gather up Liam, kicking Lip’s ankle on the way. Lip grumbles sleepily and rolls over, burrowing into his threadbare blanket. Ian rolls his eyes, but leaves him be.

Ian heats the last of the milk – barely half a glass – over the fire, warming it for Liam, and settles at the table, where Fiona is doling out carefully measured portions to each of them. She calls out for Lip, who shuffles out, hair askew and face creased with lines from his pillow. They cram around the table and dig into their food eagerly.

Fiona looks at Lip and Ian, gesturing between them with her fork. “I need you two to go to the marketplace today, see what you can do about getting us some meat.”

Lip nods. “What can we trade for it?”

Fiona smiles weakly. “Charm and blind luck?”

Lip chuckles. “We’ll do our best.”

“We should get some more straw while we’re out,” Ian pipes up. “For the roof.”

Fiona reaches over and rubs his forearm gently. “Thanks.”

“Can I do the roof?” Carl asks, a wicked glint in his eye,” I’ve got some…ideas.”

Fiona’s soft expression shifts to steel in a flash. “No.”

Carl grumbles. “You don’t even know what the plan was.”

“Did it involve fire, knives, or an animal?”

Carl’s silence is telling.

“Then you’re not doing it. Besides, I need you to watch Liam today.”

“What’s Debbie doing?”

Debbie is already up, clearing her plate and grabbing a basket from the corner. “I’m going to Sheila’s. I’m helping her finish up her latest batch of dresses before they’re due in town on Friday.”

Lip perks up. “Mmm, grab some of those cinnamon rolls that she makes.”

Debbie looks at him exasperatedly. “What do you think the basket’s for? Ok, I’m off.”

“Don’t forget your cloak!” Fiona calls after her. “It’s getting colder out there.”

Debbie rolls her eyes, grabbing the red cloak off the peg by the door and settling it around her shoulders. “Happy?”

Fiona grins. “Very. Be careful. I don’t like you going into the woods alone.”

“I do it all the time. It’s fine. Bye.”

Fiona watches her go, chewing on her lip for a moment. She snaps back to attention when Liam starts clanging his empty cup on the table. “Hey, easy, buddy, we don’t have a lot of those to spare,” she urges softly, grabbing his cup and smoothing a hand over his hair. Ian grabs his plate, and the boys follow suit, gathering up the dishware and stacking it in the empty water basin.

“I’m going to walk up the hill today, see if any of the manors need cleaning,” Fiona says, untying her apron and draping it over the back of her chair. “When you boys get back from town can you work with Carl and Liam on their reading?”

“Sure thing, Fi,” Ian promises.

Just then, the front door opens, and Veronica steps inside, carrying a small basket. “Morning, Gallaghers,” she calls cheerily, making her way to the counter and unfolding the cloth covering the contents of the basket to reveal a pile of eggs. Fiona moves over to Veronica, eyes widening at the sight.

“A dozen? Vee, that’s too much. You need those.”

Veronica waves a hand dismissively before transferring the eggs to the empty egg bowl. “We’re fine. The chickens have been laying eggs all over the place. We’ve got plenty to spare.”

Ian can tell by the way Vee focuses resolutely on her task, refusing to meet Fiona’s eyes, that she’s lying. Fiona looks like she wants to argue for a moment, but sighs instead, placing a grateful hand on Vee’s shoulder. Vee smiles softly before shrugging her off, returning to the job at hand.

Ian leaves them to their task, ducking into his room to grab his jerkin. He pulls the worn leather over his shirt, leaving the buttons open. He’ll do them up just before they reach the village. He collects Lip and makes his way out of the house, waving to Veronica and Fiona as he goes.

They go through the front gate, the old hinges groaning as the wood swings open. As they made their way down the road towards town, Ian tilts his head back, taking in the chill in the air. He’s not quite sure how they’ll manage at market, but if anyone can get something for nothing, it’s Lip. And when they return, hopefully not empty-handed, they’ll need to get started on the roof right away, if the thick clouds gathering in the distance are any indication. Ian is exhausted just thinking about it all, but there’s no time for that. They just have to keep on.

~

Fiona sighs heavily as she rounds the bend in the road, the Gallagher cottage coming into view down the path. It’s still light out – the nearby manors hadn’t had nearly enough work for her today. She’d done some washing for the Whitworth estate, but the few ducats she’d earned won’t last long. She’ll try again tomorrow, but work has been scarce in the summer months, and their stocks are worryingly low. She rubs her eyes, trying to shake off her glum mood before she enters the house. No sense in upsetting the kids.

Carl and Liam are on the floor when Fiona goes inside, fashioning some sort of structure with rocks from the backyard. Liam is clacking two stones together as he watches Carl angle some twigs into a roof-like shape. Fiona smiles at them fondly before walking into her bedroom. She lifts her mattress, grabbing the small leather bag stored under it and adding the ducats in her pocket to the pitiful stash. She settles it under her mattress again, longing for a day when she might feel the coins piercing through the thin material. She’d wake up with backaches every day if it meant they had gold to spare.

The whinny of a horse sounds outside, and Fiona furrows her brow, rushing to the main room to see what’s going on. Carl and Liam are at the front window, peering out.

“Who’s here?”

Carl shrugs. “I dunno. Some guy. Looks rich.”

Fiona hears the perk in his voice and points at him sternly. “Don’t try anything. Stay here.”

She opens the door and moves down the short front path. Carl ignores her, of course, and follows behind.

“Can I help you, my lord?”

The man looks up, startled. He’s standing next to his horse, kneeling next to the large creature’s front left hoof. He straightens, pulling at his doublet self-consciously. The fabric is simple and unadorned, but the stitching is clean and there are no tears or patches anywhere on him, which says enough. Fiona leans against the gate and watches him, waiting for an answer.

The man stares at her for a moment before shaking himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, um…I think there’s something stuck in his horseshoe. I can’t get him to stay still long enough to check, though.”

Fiona hesitates for a second before nodding. “Mind if I take a look?”

The man looks surprised, but gestures at her to go ahead, so Fiona opens the gate and approaches the horse slowly. It’s a beautiful thing, tall and muscular, a deep brown with a white stripe down its muzzle. Fiona holds her hand out in front of the horse for a moment before reaching out to stroke its head. The horse snuffles and leans into her touch. She smiles and reaches up to scratch his mane with her other hand. She’s always loved horses, and this one is impressive to say the least.

“Carl, c’mere,” she murmurs, brushing her palm down the horse’s nose to sooth it. Carl moves smoothly, grabbing a sturdy-looking stick from the grass and getting to his knees before the horse’s hooves. He lifts the horse’s left foot and gets to work, digging a jagged pebble that’s wedged within the shoe out with the stick. After a moment, it springs free from the metal, landing on the ground with a quiet plunk. Carl rises up, patting the horse’s flank casually.

Fiona gives the horse an approving stroke and turns to see the man staring at them openly. He looks amazed, mouth parted slightly in silent wonder. Fiona stares back, a bit flustered at his blatant admiration.

The man clears his throat nervously. “That was…”

“What’s his name?” Carl butts in, oblivious to the suspended moment that had been building around them.

The man blinks rapidly, looking dazed. “Um. His name’s Samson.”

Carl hums in acknowledgment, turning back to the horse. Fiona shifts awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Well, that should do it. So…”

“Could I trouble you for some water?” The man blurts. He smiles sheepishly, continuing in a quieter tone, “We’ve been riding for a while.”

“Sure, of course,” Fiona nods. “Just come through, I’ll take you.”

The man tears his eyes away from Fiona to fix on Carl. “Will you watch after him for a minute?”

Carl just nods silently, enraptured with the horse. Fiona smiles at the pair they make before turning towards the house, hearing the man follow behind her. She skirts around the house to the back, marching towards the well a few yards beyond the cottage. She dips the bucket down into the water below, aware of the man’s eyes on her as she pulls the rope back up. She grabs a cup resting on the stone lip of the well and fills it before handing it to the man. He accepts it silently, maintaining her gaze as he sips.

He swallows and drags the back of his hand across his mouth. “So what’s your name?”

Fiona barks out a laugh. “Why do you want to know?”

The man’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Maybe I want to properly thank the noble lady who saved my horse a great deal of pain.”

“There’s nothing noble about this lady,” Fiona promises wryly.

“I don’t know about that.” The man grins, and something about that smile feels exciting.

“What’s your name, then?”

The man chuckles. “Oh, I see how it is. I have to tell you everything before you tell me anything? Next you’ll be wanting to keep my horse too.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but if you’re offering…”

“Well, he probably likes you better anyway.”

“If we’re not careful, Carl will run off with him first, and we’ll both be shit out of luck.”

The man looks surprised, then utterly charmed by her vulgarity. Fiona tries to tamp down her smile, but she feels it pulling at her lips nonetheless.

“I’m Jimmy.” The man – Jimmy – extends a hand, and Fiona takes it. He brings it to his lips, and she rolls her eyes even as she feels her heart stutter a little.

“Alright, alright. So how did you fuck up your horse?”

Jimmy’s eyebrow quirks up a bit, but he answers easily. “I was riding in the woods. The paths are much too wild and worn down.”

“You shouldn’t be riding in the woods anyway. It could be dangerous for fragile young men like you.”

Jimmy laughs. “Fragile? What makes you say that?”

Fiona grins wickedly. “Well, you needed a maiden and a child to save you. Not exactly dashing knight behavior.”

Jimmy faux-pouts. “I can be dashing.”

“Mmm, don’t know about that.”

They smile at each other for a moment, and Fiona feels a thrill of genuine interest run through her. There’s something about this man that calls to her, makes her feel like excitement is lurking just around the corner. She doesn’t quite know what she’s feeling, but she knows she likes it. Jimmy looks at her appreciatively, and that’s nice too. She’s no stranger to admiring looks, but the boys in the village don’t gaze so much as leer at her. This man, though – there’s an awe in his eyes that almost feels like respect. It’s been a long time since she’s had that.

Jimmy opens his mouth to speak again, but there’s a clatter from inside that makes them both turn towards the house. Fiona rushes up to the backdoor, but it’s only Liam gleefully knocking down the rock tower he and Carl had built. Fiona sighs with relief and turns to find Jimmy looking over her shoulder into the cottage. She shoos him away as she closes the door behind her.

“Your kid?” He asks, aiming for a casual tone and failing miserably.

“Brother.”

“Another one?”

“You have no idea.”

Jimmy looks intrigued, and Fiona tries to smother the butterflies that are building up in the pit of her stomach. She hears more clacking from inside, and she smiles apologetically. “I should probably…”

Jimmy nods, backing up. “Yeah, of course. Um. Thank you. For the water. And my horse. And…yeah.”

Fiona chuckles. “You’re welcome.”

Jimmy hesitates for a moment, looking like he wants to say something. He opens his mouth, then shakes his head and turns to go. Fiona feels a shock of panic shoot through her, and before she knows it, she’s calling out to him.

“It’s Fiona.”

Jimmy freezes and turns back to her. “What?”

“My name. It’s Fiona.”

“Fiona.” The corners of Jimmy’s lips curve up slowly, as if they like the taste of the word. “I like that.”

After another stolen moment, he tears his gaze away again, making his way around the house. Fiona leans against the edge of the cottage and watches as he exchanges a few words with Carl before swinging himself up onto the magnificent horse. He takes off, and Carl watches them go wistfully. Fiona understands the feeling.

Carl turns and walks back into the house, and Fiona takes a breath before heading back herself. As she moves towards the back door, she spots Jimmy’s water cup, idling on the well’s ledge again. She picks it up, running her fingers over the hammered copper. Then she places the cup back down and goes inside, banishing Jimmy’s face from her thoughts. She’ll probably never see him again.

~

Ian drags the hay bale towards the base of the ladder propped against the back of the cottage, the straw crunching against the stones and leaves on the ground. He and Lip had managed to convince the butcher to give them a few pounds of beef in exchange for Lip balancing the man’s accounts, but that leaves Ian alone with the task of repairing the roof. He knows it’s all for the best, but he has a feeling Lip will be spending as much time with the butcher’s pretty daughter as he does with the ledgers.

He ducks inside to grab the tools. Fiona is kneading bread dough at the counter, and Debbie sits at the table, sewing the hem of a dress.

“That one of Sheila’s?” He asks, tapping Debbie’s head as he grabs the tool kit from the corner of the room.

“Yeah. It’s the last of the new order, I told her I’d finish it here. She sends her love.”

“And some cookies!” Fiona chimes in, pointing her elbow towards the plate at the edge of the counter, lovingly piled up with an assortment of treats.

Ian smiles and grabs a cookie, biting into it and humming appreciatively. Sheila is undoubtedly a bit strange, a reclusive widow living alone in the woods. But she had always been good to the Gallaghers, and she’s a skilled seamstress if people are willing to deal with bringing the orders to her cottage instead of to the shops in the village. Debbie had taken it upon herself to be her unofficial apprentice and assistant, serving as a middleman between Sheila and the customers in town and helping with the sewing whenever she could. Ian doesn’t know how Debbie remains so patient and industrious, but he’s glad she has someone like Sheila in her life. Sheila may be odd, but she is kind, and she adores Debbie. They could all do with a little bit of parental-like love in their lives.

He’s still savoring his cookie when Vee bursts in, banging the door against the wall in her haste. “Guess what?”

Fiona barks out a laugh. “Fuck, Vee, what?”

Veronica grins with barely contained glee. “The palace is throwing a ball.”

Debbie perks up, eyes brightening. “A ball?”

Fiona shrugs. “So what? The royals are having a party. What has that got to do with us?”

Veronica’s smile broadens. “No, Fi, it’s better than that. It’s a three-day festival, and get this: it’s to find the prince a bride. And everyone’s invited.”

Fiona’s eyes widen. “No shit! Everyone?”

Vee nods. “Everyone. The village is flipping the fuck out. Every damn shop girl and nobody’s daughter is suddenly convinced she’s gonna be the new princess.”

“There’s no way he’s picking a peasant,” Fiona scoffs.

“Tell that to the crazy bitches ordering up a storm at the dressmaker’s. You’re gonna be real busy, Debs.”

Debbie looks enchanted, a faraway look in her eyes. “A royal ball! Can I go, Fiona?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, you gotta be 16,” Vee cuts in apologetically.

Debbie deflates for a minute before straightening up again. “But you’ll go, right? You and Fiona?”

“Damn straight!” Vee nods. “Imma get me some free food and a night out. Nobody needs to know I’m already married.”

Fiona laughs. “Don’t tell Kev.”

Vee shoots Fiona a look. “Bitch, it was Kev’s idea. He wants me to grab some silver while I’m there.”

Ian shakes his head, amused by the proceedings. He can’t deny that a royal ball sounds exciting. He’s never been to the palace before, only ever seen it from afar. It might be nice to pretend that he could belong somewhere like that, even if only for a night.

Debbie looks lost in thought. “What if he does pick a commoner, though? What would happen?”

“Nothing,” Fiona insists, “because he won’t. Princes don’t look twice at peasants. The royals don’t spare us a second thought, Debs.”

“You don’t know that. He could pick someone we know! He could pick _you_!”

Fiona’s mouth twists ruefully. “He couldn’t, because I’m not going.”

“What?!” Debbie exclaims, horrified.

“Come on, Fi, you have to!” Veronica pleads.

“No, I don’t. I don’t need to watch all those rich fuckers look down on me. Prance in front of the prince like I’m on sale. Besides, I’ve got nothing to wear that doesn’t have about eight holes in it. Might as well stay home.”

“I can make you something!” Debbie promises. “I can ask Sheila for spare fabric, and I can – ”

“Don’t bother, Debs. You’ll have enough dresses to make for people who can afford it.”

Debbie looks stricken, Veronica displeased. “Girl, you have got to loosen up. Have some fun for once in your life.”

Fiona shrugs. “I don’t have time for fun. It’s fine.”

Veronica frowns, but lets it go for the moment. She turns to a glum Debbie. “That stitching’s looking real good, Debs! Show me how you do it?”

Debbie rallies a bit as Veronica sits beside her, and Ian takes the quiet moment to look at Fiona. She’s focusing on the bread dough again, pressing the heel of her palms into it with determination. But he can see a tightness around her eyes that wasn’t there before. He aches for her, wanting so badly to lighten her load, remind her that she deserves freedom as much as the rest of them do. But she’d never listen. It would take a miracle to get Fiona to that ball, and much as he tries, Ian isn’t magic. He can’t perform the impossible.

~

The weeks leading up to the ball are marked by a flurry of building anticipation, and even Ian feels caught up in the excitement. It’s all over the village, every conversation about gowns and carriages and romantic fantasies. Dress orders have indeed skyrocketed, and Debbie spends more time at Sheila’s than she does at home, sewing into the evening hours and working her fingers raw. Fiona frets that she’s in the woods after dark, but Debbie brushes off her concern before launching into tales of the sumptuous fabrics and unusual designs she and Sheila have been commissioned to create.

Even the men seem carried away by visions of greatness. Fathers and brothers are permitted to escort the women to the ball, and every lad seems to have some grand prophecy that a lord will spot his undeniable valor on sight and knight him on the spot. Ian rolls his eyes at them all, but he can’t stop himself from imagining it as well when he closes his eyes at night – the vast ballroom, the great lords and ladies in their finery, swords gleaming, jewels glittering. He feels ridiculous, but eager, too. He may never see it all in reality, but it’s fun to make believe for a while.

The day before the first ball, there seems to be a thickness in the air, a kind of breathless exhilaration that hums through everyone and everything. Veronica comes by to show off her gown, and Ian watches as Debbie fawns over the garment. Even Carl looks impressed, running his finger delicately down the satiny cloth.

Veronica is just launching into a discussion on potential hair styles when the door slams open and Frank stumbles inside. Ian rolls his eyes and moves out of the way as Frank collapses in the tattered armchair by the fireplace.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” Fiona intones, exasperated.

Frank looks offended, and Ian would be amused if he weren’t so irritated. “Can’t a man return to his own home to a heartfelt welcome from his children? Maybe I just wanted to enjoy the comforts of a loving household.”

“Then you should have stopped two doors down. What do you want?”

Frank shakes his head. “Why do you assume I want something?”

Fiona shoots him a flat look. “Because you always do.”

Frank sighs dramatically. “Such cynicism from my eldest daughter. I didn’t raise you to be so hardened.”

“You didn’t raise me at all.”

Frank frowns, looking perturbed. “Nonsense. I’ve always been there for you when it counted. Now why don’t you get your old man a drink?”

“Smells like you’ve gotten plenty of those yourself.”

Frank laughs merrily. “I was doing my best, before that wretched tavern kicked me out for no good reason. Full of lowlives, that place is. Not fit for an upstanding gentleman like myself.”

Fiona hums, mouth pursed in annoyance. She turns back to Vee, and they attempt to resume their conversation, resolutely ignoring Frank, who continues to mumble to himself about the undesirable caliber of the village tavern. Ian keeps an eye on Frank, ready to spring into action should his unhappy grumblings turn to outward violence. He sees Lip leaning against the wall, adopting an air of casualness, and he knows his brother is poised to intervene at a second’s notice as well.

The nearby conversation begins to filter through Ian’s concentration, and he allows his gaze to stray to his siblings, still crowded around Veronica’s dress.

“Will you come over the next day?” Debbie entreats. “I want to hear everything about the palace.”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” Vee promises, before turning to Fiona. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

Fiona opens her mouth, but Frank butts in before she makes a sound. “Don’t be buying that ‘we love the peasants, everyone is equal tonight’ nonsense they’re peddling. This so-called festival is just a chance for all those fat cat nobles to absolve themselves of stealing all the resources from the hard-working citizens of this kingdom. No daughter of mine will go to that farce. I won’t allow it.”

Veronica’s eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. “ _Allow_ it? Really, Frank?”

Fiona holds up a hand. “Vee, it’s fine. And relax, Frank. I’m not going.”

Frank settles back into the armchair. “Damn straight, you’re not.”

Fiona rolls her eyes, but stays quiet. Veronica looks torn between cajoling Fiona and fighting with Frank, but Fiona walks towards the kitchen to start preparations for dinner, effectively ending the conversation. Vee sighs in disappointment, but doesn’t press, and Ian returns his gaze to Frank, glaring at his useless father. He knows better than to think that Fiona takes anything Frank says too seriously, but the last thing his sister needs is another voice in her ear telling her what she ought to be doing. Ian clenches his fists and wills himself not to move. In a few hours, Frank will be gone, off to find another tavern that will tolerate him, and they can continue on with their lives.

~

The morning of the ball, Fiona rushes around the house with a forced cheerfulness that has the opposite of the intended effect. Much as she tries to pretend nothing is wrong, the rest of the Gallagher siblings are quiet, exchanging gloomy looks over a muted breakfast. They are used to being left out of events and invitations, but after the weeks of collective anticipation that have swept the kingdom into a frenzy, the prospect of an ordinary day feels crushing.

Fiona, attuned to the moods of her siblings as always, doles out only the most perfunctory of tasks for the day. She avoids ordering any of them out, unwilling to send them into town, where the mood will undoubtedly be ebullient. Instead, she sets them each up with standard household maintenance, just enough to keep their hands and minds busy and distracted from their disappointment.

The day drags on, each hour feeling heavier than the last, and by late afternoon the house is eerily quiet, each sibling lost in their own envious fantasies. Ian tries not to indulge, but he can’t help but think about how right about now, the village boys would be pulling out their finest garments, dusting off family heirlooms and maybe even ornamental weapons to adorn themselves with for their royal debuts.

Ian goes out to the back to fetch some water so Fiona can start dinner, gazing moodily at the sky taking on the first pink hints of the setting sun. He scuffs his foot against the stone of the well sullenly as he pulls at the rope, hoisting the sloshing bucket into his arms.

He makes his way back to the house, listening as the wind picks up behind him. He hears a sudden clatter, one of the copper cups caught up in the breeze and tumbling off the ledge of the well. He turns back to right it, and promptly drops the bucket, the wood clattering to the ground, water splashing against his feet.

There’s a man sitting on the well.

“What the fuck?!” Ian exclaims in shock. He’s sure there was no one there a moment ago, and he would have seen someone coming from miles away.

The man smiles at him, a slow, cat-like curving of his lips. His clothes are dark, his hair is dark, even the dirt under his nails is dark – but his eyes are a vibrant blue, sparkling at Ian in clear amusement.

After an awkward moment of open staring, Ian finds his voice again. “Who are you? Where the fuck did you come from?”

The corners of the man’s mouth only creep higher. “Go get your sister.”

The fuck. “Debbie?”

Finally the man’s smile snaps, and he huffs impatiently, rolling his eyes. “No, not fucking Debbie. Fiona.”

Ian bristles at the man’s rapid shift to disdain. “Why do you want her? Who the fuck _are_ you?”

The man purses his lips in annoyance. “Would you just get your damn sister please?”

Ian stands up straighter, squaring his shoulders. “No.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth, no doubt to launch into what Ian is sure will be an impressively expletive-riddled tirade, when Fiona’s voice sounds out behind Ian’s back.

“Everything ok? I heard a noise – ” Fiona stops dead when she catches sight of the man still lounging indolently on the well’s ledge. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man presses his lips together ruefully. “Charming family. Fiona, I’m guessing?”

Fiona crosses her arms, easing in front of Ian protectively. “Who’s askin’?”

“Down, girl,” the man grins. “I’m here to help.”

“With what?”

The man pauses for what Ian can only assume is intended to be dramatic effect. “I hear you might be in need of a party dress.”

Ian can tell by the way that Fiona shifts on her feet that she’s surprised. He can’t blame her. What the fuck is going on?

“Party dress?” Fiona parrots dumbly.

The man lets out a sigh of intense and disproportionate longsuffering. “The festival? Tonight? Sound familiar at all?”

Fiona’s brow furrows in confusion. “You want to…get me a dress?”

The man shrugs. “More or less.”

“But…why?”

At that, the man grins. “Turns out you have a fairy fucking godmother.”

The silence that follows seems to stretch out, thick and ringing, hovering heavily between Ian and Fiona pressed together and the man on the well, whose smile dims the longer the siblings gape at him. He begins to tap his foot impatiently against the stone of the well, looking idly at his nails as he waits for one of them to snap out of their stupor.

Finally, Fiona croaks out, “A what?”

The man glances up at them casually. “Fairy godmother. Alright, maybe I shouldn’t’a led with the whole godmother thing, but godfather makes me sound fuckin’ old. ‘Sides, nobody really gets it unless we call it fairy godmother, like middle-aged ladies covered in glitter and frills have a monopoly on this kind’a shit.”

Fiona looks like she’s trying very hard to connect a set of puzzle pieces in her head, squinting her eyes in concentration. “So you’re a…fairy…”

The man shrugs. “Half. Whatever. It’s not important. What’s important is that we get you dressed and ready and off to that ball before the hungry peasants eat all the hors d’oeuvres. So let’s get on with it, yeah?”

“But, why?” Fiona asks, bewildered.

“It just is, ok?” The man declares. “Can you just go with it? This’ll go a lot easier for all of us if we could just cool it with question time.”

At that, Ian finally manages to shake off his daze, frowning at the man. “Why should she just do whatever you say? Who the fuck are you to just show up and demand that we all fall in line?”

The man shoots Ian a bored look before turning to Fiona. “I’m sorry, do you _not_ want to get handed a bunch of free shit and go to the event of the fucking century, all expenses paid, everything taken care of, the whole world handed to you on a silver platter for once in your fucking life? Is that not interesting to you?”

Ian spins to face Fiona in righteous indignation, only to see his sister biting her lip in hesitation. Ian softens, seeing the tempted look in her eyes, how her deeply buried desires are starting to surface at this impossible offer.

“I mean,” she begins haltingly, “it would be nice…but it’s ridiculous. He’s right. Who do you think you are, just showin’ up like this and thinking you can tell us what’s what?”

The man’s eyes roll skyward. “Fairy fucking godmother, remember? You’ve never heard any of the legends? You should check ‘em out. The fair maidens in those are usually a hell of a lot more excited and cooperative than you’re being.”

“Well, excuse me for being a little suspicious when some stranger shows up at my house out of nowhere and starts making promises.”

“Aren’t you cutting it a little close?” Ian accuses. “Sun’s already setting.”

The man shoots him an acidic look. “I work fast. We’d be long done by now if you two would just shut the fuck up and let me do my job.”

“But all of that – fairy godmothers, magic,” Fiona presses, “they’re just stories. They’re not real. They can’t be.”

“What, you want a fucking demonstration?” The man snaps irritably. At the siblings’ twin expectant looks, he sighs heavily. “Fucking hell, you do. Fine, if that’s how you wanna play it.”

Without warning, the man holds out his right arm, waving his hand with a casual flick of the wrist. Then the bucket, still lying on the ground by Ian’s feet, shudders to life, growing and reshaping with a groan of bending wood. Ian skitters back, pulling Fiona with him, and they watch in astonishment as the bucket transfigures into a wooden birdhouse, the small structure reminiscent of a miniature version of the Gallagher cottage.

“Holy fuck,” Fiona whispers beside Ian, her hand pressing into his arm where she clutches onto him.

Ian’s mind is racing, and in his haze, he seizes on the first clear thought he can grasp. “Hey,” he utters weakly, “we needed that bucket.”

“Are you serious right now?” The man asks incredulously. “Relax. It’ll turn back in a few minutes.” He turns his gaze to Fiona. “Well?”

Fiona is silent for a long moment, gaze locked on the birdhouse. Slowly, she begins to nod. “Ok. Yeah.”

The man grins. “Alright, then. Let’s do this.”

Fiona shifts uncertainly. “So, uh, where do we start?”

“If you start walking now, you might make it to the palace by tomorrow’s ball, but that kind of defeats the purpose of me being here, doesn’t it? So we need to get you a carriage. You got anything round-ish in there?” He asks, inclining his chin towards the cottage.

“Why?” Fiona says warily.

“It’s easier to make a carriage out of something at least a little carriage-shaped. Just trying to streamline the process.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, magic one into being?” Ian demands, a bit insolently.

“Not really how magic works, gingerbread,” the man bites out with a terse smile. “Can’t make something out of nothing. Not for this.”

Ian grits his teeth at the nickname, glaring at the man before him. There’s something about him, his casual, cocky demeanor, the smirk always hovering at the corners of his lips, that makes something stir in Ian’s stomach, heat tingling up his spine.

“We should have something,” Fiona offers. “I’ll go check.”

She moves back into the cottage, and Ian goes to follow her before pausing, turning back to the man curiously.

“Hey, do you have a name?”

The man scoffs. “Course I have a fuckin’ name.”

Ian shrugs. “I don’t know how it works with you…people.” The man’s eyebrows shoot up at that, but Ian pushes on. “So what is it?”

The man’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”

“You want us to just keep calling you fairy godmother?”

The man relents, the tension in his shoulders easing. “It’s Mickey.”

Ian barks out a laugh. “Mickey, really?”

The man – Mickey – bristles. “Well, what the fuck did you expect? What are my ‘people’ supposed to be called?”

Ian shrugs. “I don’t know. Something more…mystical.”

Mickey scowls. “Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint.”

Ian shuffles forward just a bit. “I’m Ian, by the way.”

Mickey just grunts, clearly still annoyed.

Ian feels himself tilting forward towards Mickey, opening his mouth to ask him something, anything, but then he hears a ruckus behind him and his siblings come spilling out of the cottage.

“Whoa,” Carl mutters, eyes darting back and forth between the birdhouse on the ground and Mickey on the well. Debbie sidles up to Ian, holding Liam’s hand.

“So you’re really a fairy?” Debbie asks breathlessly, eyes shining with excitement.

“Gods, look at the pair of you,” Mickey murmurs. “Carrot Crusaders. Red run in the family?”

Ian bites down the urge to snap, and Debbie doesn’t seem deterred in the least. She’s staring at Mickey in utter glee, like he’s the epitome of all her childhood fantasies. Ian has to admit that in a way, he sort of is.

Fiona comes out of the cottage then with an armful of items. “Ok, we’ve got an apple, a tomato, and a pumpkin.”

Mickey contemplates for a moment before saying, “Pumpkin. We’ll get to that in a minute. First, let’s get you dressed.”

Fiona winces. “I don’t really have anything suitable,” she admits sheepishly.

Mickey fixes her with a flat stare. “I know. I told you, I’ve got it covered. How about you just come a little closer.”

Fiona deposits the fruits on the ground and moves forward warily. Mickey hops to his feet, pulling something out of the back of his trousers and twirling it between his fingers. It’s a fucking wand, several stalks of dark wood twisting together elegantly to form a long, thin spindle. There are markings delicately carved into the surface, intricate tracery that seems to shimmer with ancient power. Debbie squeals in delight, and Ian chortles.

Mickey shoots Ian a glare. “Don’t say a fucking word.”

Ian bites back a grin. “Wasn’t going to.”

Fiona chews her lip nervously, staring at the tip of the wand pointing towards her. Mickey stills, a look of concentration passing over his face as he narrows his eyes in calculation. The Gallaghers fall silent, watching for a suspended moment as Mickey ponders before sweeping his hand in a graceful looping motion.

The tip of the wand starts to glow, a pale white light emanating from the dark wood, and suddenly sparks start to glitter at Fiona’s feet. She looks down at them in alarm, panic flitting through her eyes as they sweep upwards, submerging her. Light spins around her, nearly obscuring her body as the sparks pick of speed. After a frenzied moment, the sparks begin to settle, coalescing into a gown that falls upon Fiona’s skin like dewdrops.

Debbie gasps softly, and Ian can’t help but agree. The dress is a soft, light blue that deepens into darker shades as it descends towards the ground. Fiona’s torso is encased in a fitted bodice, the light blue ornamented with gleaming silver filigree designs. The skirt’s fabric descends in airy waves down towards her feet, the material seeming to float as it tapers gently away from her body. Fiona’s arms are bare, but elegant bracelets have appeared at her wrists, and a necklace rests against her collarbone, deep blue gems glittering against her skin.

Fiona stares at the dress in awe, smoothing her hands down the bodice. Her eyes catch on the glistening bracelets, and she holds her arms out in front of her, circling her hands and watching as the ornaments catch the light. Her eyes widen, and she trails her right hand over her left arm. Ian follows the movement, noticing now that her skin is spotless, clear of all the marks and smudges she accrues in her work throughout the day. Even her hair looks freshly washed, no longer tangled, but glossy, falling in soft curls around her shoulders. Ian has always known that Fiona is beautiful, but seeing his sister in this finery, he realizes that she could rival the most celebrated princesses in the land.

His siblings are standing around Fiona in various states of awe while Mickey hangs back, leaning against the well, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. After another moment of stunned silence, Fiona looks up at him.

“Did you…design this?”

Mickey’s smirk turns to a scowl in an instant. “Fuck you is what I designed. Do you like it or what?”

Fiona nods slowly. “I- I do. I love it. Thank you.” She says sincerely, her face turning soft with gratitude.

Mickey ducks his head a little, almost shyly. “Well, good. So, we gonna stand here all night or do you actually wanna get to that ball?”

Fiona nods again, more firmly this time, before her eyes widen. “Wait, I need to change my shoes. These ones won’t suit such fine gown.”

Mickey’s lips quirk up again. “Won’t they? Look down.”

Fiona does, and the rest of the Gallaghers look with her as she gently lifts the magnificent drapery of the skirt. Upon her feet is a pair of glass slippers, the crystal glittering in rainbow prisms. Fiona lifts one of her feet, marveling at the wondrous creations. She points her toes experimentally, and somehow, astonishingly, the shoe bends with her.

“How…” she mumbles, words dying in her throat. Ian knows the feeling. He feels frozen, fastened to the ground by the might of the miracles he has witnessed in the past few minutes.

“They’re glass.” Fiona manages to croak out, somewhat obviously.

Mickey smiles. “Nifty, huh?”

“And they won’t break?”

“Nope,” Mickey promises. “Here’s the thing, though. All this stuff – it’s gonna change back at midnight, so you gotta make sure you’re back here before that happens, unless you want to answer a whole lot of awkward questions.”

That news finally shakes Ian out of his awed silence. “Wait, midnight? Why?”

Mickey shrugs. “It just is. I don’t make the rules.”

“Don’t you?” Ian demands incredulously.

Mickey’s eyes turn to steel in a flash. “No,” he says shortly, halting that line of inquiry in its tracks.

Ian wants to ask more, wants to learn everything about the magic and the rules and this mysterious man, but the dangerous glint in Mickey’s eyes stops him from pressing. He looks down, acquiescing, and the tension of the moment dies down.

“It’s almost dark,” Mickey remarks, and indeed it is, the sun dipping low on the horizon. “Why don’t you go inside and mentally prepare yourself or whatever?”

Fiona nods, gathering her skirts and moving towards the house, the rest of the Gallaghers edging inside as well. Ian is turning to follow them when Mickey’s voice rings out behind him.

“Ey, not you, Tangerine Terror. Got a job for you.”

Ian glances back at Mickey in confusion. “Me?”

Mickey gives him a bored look. “Yeah, you. You sixteen?”

Ian blinks. “Uh. Seventeen.”

“Good enough,” Mickey shrugs. “You’re going to the ball too.”

A shock thrums through Ian’s body. “What?”

“You heard me. So stick around, we gotta get you presentable.”

“Are you my, uh, fairy godmother too?” Ian says haltingly, bewilderment making his head fuzzy.

“Fuck no,” Mickey scoffs. “But you’re gonna escort your sister.”

“Fiona doesn’t need a chaperone,” Ian insists.

“Well, you’ll be escorting someone else too.”

Ian’s head spins, brain scrambling to keep up with Mickey. “Who?”

Mickey shifts uncomfortably for a moment before admitting, “My sister.”

That’s unexpected. “Why?” Ian asks, inwardly cringing at his sudden inability to produce anything but slow one-word questions.

Mickey pushes out an irritated breath through his nose. “Look, do you want to keep fucking interrogating me, or do you wanna take what I’m offering and go to the damn ball?”

Ian shoves down the urge to argue, because truth be told, he does want to go to the ball. Even as he stands here in shock, he can feel excitement bubbling up in his stomach, suffusing his limbs with an exhilarating feeling of possibility.

“Ok,” Ian relents. “Ok. Yeah. I do. Just. Why me?”

“Who fucking else?” Mickey demands simply.

“I don’t know,” Ian shrugs. “Lip? He’s older.”

 “Yeah, no fucking way,” Mickey scoffs, shooting a dismissive look at Lip, who is leaning against the cottage doorway watching the exchange curiously.

“Hey!” Lip speaks up, straightening in indignation.

Mickey ignores his protest and looks back to Ian. “I need someone to look out for my sister, not try to fuck her in the carriage on the way over.”

Ian has to admit he has a point, tilting his head in acknowledgement while Lip splutters behind him.

“Can we move on with this now?” Mickey continues. “You’ve got places to be.”

“Sure,” Ian says, shuffling his feet. “So are you going to, um, dress me too?”

Mickey grimaces slightly. “This is bending the rules a little bit, but I’m gonna try. We’ll just have to hope it works out.”

Ian’s ears perk up at the mention of these rules, but Mickey is already moving forward, pulling out the wand again. He walks up to Ian, stopping a few feet away and looking him up and down in study. He bites his lower lip absently in concentration, and Ian’s eyes catch on the movement.

Then Mickey is lifting the wand, and Ian braces himself. The tip starts to glow again, but it’s dimmer, a deep blue instead of the bright white from before. Ian feels a gentle warmth start to surround his skin, and he looks down to see the fabric of his clothes shifting and weaving, thread snaking across his chest to form a brocade doublet. A curlicue pattern stands out against his chest, vines embroidered in silver upon the deep green garment. He feels his trousers altering too, holes stitching together, the material tightening and strengthening against his legs.

As his clothing settles and the warmth dies down, Ian looks up at Mickey, stunned. He knows he just witnessed this happening to Fiona, and his own transformation was much less flashy, but experiencing it himself is still an entirely different sensation. He feels amazed, invigorated by the touch of magic against his skin.

Mickey is looking at Ian approvingly. “That should hold for a few hours. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how long it’ll last, so if it starts to change back while you’re still there, just, I don’t know. Hide behind something.”

Ian tamps down on the pang of disappointment that flashes in his belly. Temporary or not, this is still the finest clothing he’s ever worn in his life, and he won’t complain.

Ian tugs on the doublet reverently, admiring Mickey’s handiwork –wandiwork? – before finding his voice again. “So, your sister, is she…”

“I’ll bring her here,” Mickey answers. “Just go inside, I’ll get you in a few. And bring the pumpkin. No, not you!” Mickey barks as Ian moves to pick it up. “Him,” he clarifies, gesturing to Lip still loitering in the doorway. “Don’t need you getting all dirty before you even get there.”

Lip rolls his eyes but grabs the pumpkin anyway, shooting Ian a wry look before shuffling inside. Ian stands awkwardly, suddenly unsure of himself now that he’s alone with Mickey.

After a stilted moment, Mickey clicks his tongue impatiently. “Alright, I’ll come back in a sec. Be ready.” And without further warning, Mickey vanishes, the indents of his feet in the grass the only indication he was ever here.

“Holy fuck!” Ian yells to the empty air, eyes searching where Mickey was standing just seconds before. He stares for another minute before shaking his head to clear the haze of bewilderment and walking back into the cottage.

His siblings are bustling around Fiona, chattering excitedly. When Ian enters, they turn towards him, mouths dropping open in shock at the change in his appearance. He smiles at them weakly.

“Looks like I’m tagging along?” He says feebly, feeling terribly self-conscious under their stares.

“Some sort of two for one special?” Fiona asks ruefully, but Ian sees her shoulders sag a bit with relief that she will not be going into this alone.

“Can I go too?” Carl pipes up, stretching up to his full height, then bending over with a grunt when Debbie elbows him in the ribs.

“No, idiot. You’re too young. And you’d make a scene. You’re not fit for a royal court.”

“And you are?” Carl demands skeptically, darting out of the way when Debbie tries to elbow him again.

“Of course.” Her eyes take on a faraway look. “If I were sixteen, I’d have them all at my feet before it even hits midnight. I bet I could even make the prince fall in love with me.”

Fiona snorts. “No one in this family is going to make the prince do anything but turn his nose up. We’re not his kind.”

“But Fiona,” Debbie protests, “You look so…no one will be able to tell you’re not noble.”

Fiona shrugs. “It’s just an illusion. People always know, somehow. It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’m going along with this. I shouldn’t leave you all alone here. Maybe I should just – ”

“You’re going.” Lip intones firmly. “I’ve got it covered here. Go have fun for once, Fi. We can survive one night without you.”

“Three nights,” Carl murmurs unhelpfully.

Fiona still looks torn, but before she can mount a protest, a knock sounds on the door. Every head swivels towards the door, staring in silence for a moment. A knock sounds again, harder and somehow irritated, and Ian smiles, picturing Mickey scowling on the other side of the door. The noise spurs Fiona into action, and she hastens to the door, pulling it open.

Mickey is indeed on the other side, and this time, he’s not alone. A girl stands behind his right shoulder, and Ian can immediately see their resemblance in their dark hair and vivid blue eyes. There’s also something about her, in the stubborn set of her shoulders and the defiant tilt of her jawline, that reminds him of Mickey. But there’s uncertainty too, a nervousness in her eyes that instantly kicks Ian’s protective drive into gear.

“You ready?” Mickey asks Fiona before glancing over her shoulder at Ian pointedly.

“Yeah,” she nods, stepping over the threshold carefully when Mickey and his sister back up to let her through. Carl, Debbie, and Liam trail behind her, and Lip hoists the pumpkin into his arms again before moving after them. Ian looks around the empty cottage, takes a deep breath, and walks outside.

Mickey is directing Lip to deposit the pumpkin upon the road outside the gate. Lip looks annoyed at the orders, but does as he’s told before moving back and taking Liam’s hand.

“Back up, people,” Mickey commands, waving his arms to shoo them further away. Out comes the wand yet again, and Ian holds his breath as he waits for the show.

The bright white light is back this time, sending a wave of sparks shimmering around the pumpkin. The unassuming gourd rattles against the ground and begins to expand, the orange skin stretching and brightening. The stem elongates rapidly, curling around body of the pumpkin and arranging itself into a delicate tracery that adorns the growing squash before curving into wheels at the base. When the croak of the morphing pumpkin and the tinny rush of the sparks fade from the night air, a massive carriage stands before the Gallagher cottage, a white and gold sphere that gleams in the light of the newly risen moon.

Ian blinks, willing his mouth to shut where it has fallen open in awe, but it seems that even after all he’s seen tonight, the magnificence of the carriage still strikes him dumb. Even Mickey’s sister seems impressed, sidling up to her brother and giving his sleeve a slight tug. Mickey gives her a soft sideways smile, and warmth flares in Ian’s chest at the quiet exchange.

“All we need now are some horses,” Mickey states matter-of-factly. “You guys got any pets?”

“Sorry, our horses are all out on loan,” Lip says dryly. Mickey shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Doesn’t have to be a horse. Anything living’ll do. Four legs optional but preferred.”

“We don’t have any pets,” Fiona starts apologetically, “but maybe we can find some animals? I saw a bird’s nest in a tree down the road the other day – ”

Then Carl speaks up, face guilty. “I might have something that could work.” He turns and rushes to the house before Fiona can shout at him. He shuffles back a moment later with what looks to be a homemade cage, a bundle of twigs fastened together with frayed string and blades of grass, two mice shivering inside.

“Carl, what the fuck?” Fiona exclaims, cuffing him gently on the back of the head.

“Relax, I wasn’t going to do anything.” Carl shrinks under Fiona’s look. “Ok, I _haven’t_ done anything.”

“Yeah, yet,” Fiona mutters, grabbing the cage from Carl. She holds it close to her chest as she turns to Mickey.

“You aren’t going to hurt them, are you?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “No. I’m not a monster. Unlike your brother, apparently.”

Carl at least has the decency to look chagrined. Ian slings an arm around his shoulder, squeezing briefly before letting him go.

“Put them down here,” Mickey says, gesturing to the ground in front of the carriage. He sighs when Fiona still looks unsure. “Look, they won’t feel a thing, ok? It’s a simple spell, they’ll be fine and back in your brother’s hands fearing for their lives in no time.”

Fiona snorts, finally placing the cage down and backing up, accustomed to the process by now. Mickey lifts his wand again, and with a shower of sparks, the mice begin to change just as the pumpkin had. The cage splinters apart, the twigs softening and wrapping around the morphing animals to form reigns. By the end of it, two majestic white horses stand tethered to the carriage, snuffling and scraping at the ground energetically.

Carl’s the first to shake off his stupor this time, approaching the closer horse and stroking its muzzle. Mickey turns back to Fiona, stashing the wand in his back pocket.

“They’ll be able to get to the palace on their own, but you might want to shove Ginger Giant out front before you get there if you don’t want to raise any eyebrows about self-driving carriages. Otherwise, you’re all set.”

Fiona turns to Lip uncertainly. “You’ll be alright here? You don’t need - ”

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” Lip insists. “Don’t worry about us, ok?”

Fiona smiles ruefully. “I always worry about you,” she maintains, ruffling his hair affectionately. Lip ducks out of the way, and Fiona bends to kiss the top of Liam’s head.

Ian makes his own goodbyes, quickly hugging his siblings before stopping where Mickey and his sister are hanging back together. He tentatively extends a hand towards the girl, and she swallows before taking it. Just as he’s turning to escort her to the carriage, Mickey grips his wrist. Ian feels a warm tingle thrum where Mickey touches him. He wonders what sort of magic is in Mickey’s skin.

He looks back at Mickey, who’s pinning him with a hard look, face serious. “Watch out for her, Gallagher. I don’t trust those entitled pricks one bit, so you make sure they know that something fuckin’ terrible will happen to them if they get too familiar. ‘Cause it will.”

Ian nods solemnly, silently promising to both Mickey and himself that he will stay alert. He knows Fiona can take care of herself, and Mickey’s sister has a steeliness in her spine that reminds him or his own sisters, but it’s no secret that many noblemen claim certain liberties, particularly over the poorer maidens who have no title to protect them. Even the village boys have been known to get too handsy with enough beer in them, and Ian has no doubt the festival will be flowing with alcohol.

Despite the sober understanding that passes between the two boys, Mickey’s sister rolls her eyes, pulling Ian along towards the carriage and breaking Mickey’s grip on his wrist. His skin feels cold against the night air, still tingling from Mickey’s touch.

Fiona clambers into the carriage, huffing in frustration as she wrestles with the skirt of her gown. Ian hands Mickey’s sister up the small steps before hopping up himself.

Mickey slaps his hand against the edge of the carriage door, slipping his fingers around the edge and looking up at the trio. “One last thing,” he remarks, reaching behind him. He pulls up a shapely white mask, just large enough to cover one’s eyes and nose, and hands it to Fiona. “It’s a masquerade, right? Need a mask to masquerade.”

Fiona reaches out to take it, running her fingers lightly over the graceful silver design. Mickey reaches back again and pulls out a simpler, soft leather mask, handing it to Ian before tossing a black one to his sister with a wink. Then he’s backing away from the carriage.

“Remember, midnight. You gotta be out by then,” he says sternly. “Have fun,” he continues more softly, lips quirking up in a half-smile. And without another word, he vanishes.

Fiona sucks in a breath, and Debbie cries out in shock. Ian has seen Mickey do this before, but even he starts in surprise. When he leans back into the carriage, though, Mickey’s sister is shaking her head in exasperation, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“He loves doing that,” she says wryly. “He likes to freak people out with it. I keep telling him there’s no point if he’s not around to see their reactions, but he keeps at it. I think he just thrives on chaos.”

A startled laugh escapes Ian’s throat at her words, and he immediately feels more at ease. He realizes that this is the first time she’s spoken, and he instantly likes her voice, low and husky, like her brother’s.

“I’m Mandy,” she offers.

“Ian,” he answers, “And that’s Fiona.”

Fiona smiles at Mandy encouragingly, her motherly instincts wrapping around her new charge easily. “So how do we get this thing to move?” She asks, gesturing to the carriage surrounding them.

“Maybe we just tell it to go?” Ian suggests.

Mandy shrugs. “It should probably be you,” she directs to Fiona.

Fiona places her hand against the wall of the carriage, meekly uttering, “Um…go?”

The carriage lurches to life, springing forward as the clop of the horses’ hooves thunders against the road. Ian pops his head out of the window in the carriage door to see his siblings waving, calling out farewells. Carl runs after the carriage for a moment, grinning as he chases the departing trio. Ian waves back and watches as the Gallagher cottage shrinks in the distance, only ducking back inside when the carriage veers around the bend in the road and his family disappears from sight.

~

The ride is silent, each of them privately preparing themselves for the spectacle they’re about to experience. Ian tries to stay calm, but he can’t help those visions of glory and admiration from springing into his mind unbidden. He doesn’t really believe that anyone will take notice of him, but the fantastical thought that someone could see him and think he could be more than he is is thrilling.

He spends most of the journey gazing out the window, watching the trees and fields whip by in a blur of greens. He shoots a few sidelong glances at Mandy, wondering what her story is. He’s hesitant to talk to her, her bearing defensive and a bit standoffish as she shrinks back against the carriage seat, but her fingers pull nervously at her skirts, betraying her vulnerability. Ian wants to soothe her, but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know her at all, so he just looks back out the window and tries to regulate his heartbeat.

All too soon, the noise of the festival begins to mingle with the thud of the horses’ hooves, the sounds of clinking glass and distant music piping over the murmur of far-off voices. Ian feels rather than sees Fiona tense, and he places a gentle hand on her leg. Fiona shoots him a grateful, if harried, smile.

As the noise grows closer, they halt the carriage, and Ian hops out, hoisting himself up to the front seat and taking the reigns where they rest against the cushion. He tugs at them gently, and the horses start moving again. Ian breathes deep, sucking the cool night air into his lungs, throwing his head back to glance at the moon, full and glowing in the dark sky.

The castle comes into sight not long after, slightly elevated on a hill, light spilling from every window. The air around it seems to shimmer, and Ian feels a thrill run up his spine. He’s never been this close before, and the knowledge that he will be stepping through the doors in mere moments makes him shudder with anticipation.

The carriage pulls through the outside gate, a guard nodding as he lets Ian ride through easily. Ian’s head reels at the simple respect afforded him by a mere change of clothes and an ornate carriage. He steers the horses around the huge arcing driveway, pulling up to the front of the palace and pulling to a gentle stop. He stares up at the palace for a moment, soaking in its high pointed towers, the ancient stone walls, the ornate details peeking out at every corner and ledge. It’s magnificent. Ian can’t believe he’s really here.

He pulls the mask out of his waistband and fastens it sloppily around his head before hopping down onto the ground. An opulently dressed footman is already handing Fiona down from the carriage, and she looks around in awe as Ian slides over to take the footman’s place and help Mandy down. He has a feeling that Mandy doesn’t take too kindly to strangers, and even if he’s essentially a stranger as well, tending to her needs is kind of the reason why he’s here at all. He won’t slack off in his duties.

Both girls already have their masks secured, and Fiona takes one look at him and reaches up to adjust his, which is undoubtedly askew. He tries to shoo her away, but Fiona manages to right it despite his petulant flailing, and when she’s satisfied, Ian grumbles but offers her his free arm, Mandy’s hand already tucked into the crook of his left elbow.

They make their way up the massive staircase that leads to the palace doors, and Ian feels Fiona’s hand tightening around his arm as they get closer to the entrance. He tries to blame his own breathlessness on the steps.

The doors are open, and when they get to the top of the stairway, they are greeted by a large entrance hall, a sparkling chandelier descending from the ceiling and casting pinpoints of light across the shining marble floors. Servants dressed in meticulously tailored livery bustle about the room, sticking close to the walls and blending into the shadows. At the end of the room, another set of doors is wide open, light and music spilling over the threshold.

When they reach the doorway, they pause to take in the scene before them. The doors open onto a gleaming staircase that descends down into the vast ballroom below. Thousands of candles cast a golden haze upon the room, the firelight bouncing upon the mirrored panels that adorn the walls. Long tables line the edges of the room, each piled high with more food than the Gallaghers see in a year, every confection more elaborate than the last. Ian spots the orchestral ensemble through the intricate ironwork of the bannister, stationed in the corner and midway through a lively waltz.

The center of the ballroom is a symphony of color, the dance floor swirling with couples, all in sweeping gowns and fine doublets in every shade and pattern. There are even more people milling around the borders, watching and whispering as they sip out of tall champagne flutes. Ian stares at them all, wonders who they are, who is noble, who is royalty, and who might be just like him, an imposter in this dazzling wonderland.

“Holy shit,” Fiona whispers, and Ian swallows down the hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat.

“Yeah,” he agrees weakly. “So what do we do now?”

They stand in silence for another bewildered moment before Mandy speaks up. “Drinks?”

“Gods, yes,” Fiona sighs, and they make their way down the steps and into the melee below.

The noise surrounds them as they join the crowd, and Ian pushes through a cluster of women in pastel dresses to snag a pair of champagne flutes from a passing servant, handing them to the girls before darting back to grab one for himself. The glass is full to the brim with champagne, and Ian wills himself not to spill as he brings it to his lips. The liquid is perfectly chilled, bubbles tingling against his tongue, and it’s so much better than the lukewarm ale he sometimes drinks at the village tavern. He takes another sip, relishing the way the bubbles explode in his mouth like fireworks, and offers his arm to Mandy again. Mandy’s glass is already nearly empty, and she smiles at him more easily when she loops her arm around his.

“Do you think Vee is already here?” Fiona calls over the din of the ballroom.  


“Let’s see,” Ian replies, straightening up to his full height to look over the heads of the horde of people.

“We should move closer to the dance floor,” Mandy chimes in. “Better sightlines.”

Fiona leads the way this time, darting around wide skirts and dangling scabbards as she finds a path. They stumble to the edge of the dance floor, searching the sea of people for a flash of Veronica. “There,” Fiona says triumphantly, pointing to a spot about halfway down the room before moving decisively, Ian and Mandy struggling to keep up with her.

Ian follows for a moment before he finally spots Veronica watching the dancers with amusement. She is radiant, her dark skin shining against the yellow satin of her gown. Her mask is pulled up around her forehead, her hair piled up atop her head, a few braids curling down elegantly. She casts a brief sideways look at Fiona when they come to a stop beside her before turning back to the dance floor. Fiona nudges her to regain her attention, and when Vee looks back Fiona pulls her mask up for a brief instant, sticking her tongue out at Veronica mischievously before replacing the mask back upon her features.

Veronica’s eyes widen in shock. “Fiona?!” she gasps. “What the…how…the _fuck_?”

“Believe me, I know,” Fiona says ruefully, her lips pulling into a smile despite herself.

“Where did you get this…you look amazing! But how are you here?”

“It’s a long story,” Fiona admits. “Where’s Kev?”

“Getting us more drinks. We need to be drunk as fuck to handle this place.”

“Tell me about it,” Fiona agrees. “We’re just trying to stay upright out here.”

“We?” Veronica questions. Then she looks over Fiona’s shoulder and catches sight of Ian. “Ian? Are the rest of you here too?”

Ian shakes his head. “No, just me and Fi. And Mandy. This is Mandy.” He nudges Mandy forward a bit, and she nods her head in mute greeting.

Veronica gives Fiona an incredulous look before waving to Mandy. “Hey. So who are you?”

Mandy shrugs. “Long story.”

“Mmhmm,” Veronica grunts, eyes calculating.

Just then, Kev arrives, clutching two champagne flutes and towering over the crowd. “Hey, baby, I brought some food too, just grab it from my pockets – holy fuck, Fiona! Looking good, girl! Ian, my man, what’s up?”

Ian smiles at the ever-unflappable Kev, reaching out to grab one of the glasses, in serious danger of spilling over as Kev fiddles with the treats in his pockets. Kev’s easygoing enthusiasm is already calming Ian down somewhat, but Mandy looks unsettled again, the odd one out in a group of friends. Ian glances to Fiona, who’s perfectly content now that she’s with Vee and Kev, and makes a snap decision.

“Do you want to dance?” He asks Mandy abruptly.

Mandy looks up at him cautiously. “I don’t really know how to dance,” she admits nervously.

“Neither do I,” Ian responds cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

He grabs her hand and pulls her out onto the dance floor, Fiona and Vee calling out encouragements as they go. Once they’re out in the wave of dancers, though, Ian’s temporary confidence shrinks a bit. Monica and Frank had tried to teach them how to waltz once, when Ian was very young and they’d come home from the tavern intent on playing Big Happy Family for the night. Fiona had been the only one who’d been old enough (and inclined enough, unlike Lip) to take any of it in. Ian had mostly held an infant Debbie and watched in awe as Frank had swept Fiona around the room. The next day, Frank and Monica had disappeared for an impromptu week-long pub crawl about the neighboring villages, and the Gallagher siblings had never really had any reason to dance since.

Now, though, Ian wishes he’d asked Fiona to teach him whatever she knew, because the steps suddenly seem impossibly daunting. Mandy looks a bit overwhelmed too, but there’s a light in her eyes, buried deep but not entirely hidden, that betrays her admiration for the spectacle around her. Ian doesn’t know why, but he wants to make that look shine brighter.

He grabs her right hand, slinging his free arm around her waist, and pulls her closer. He starts to move, practically dragging her in a weaving arc, trying to match the current of the other dancers.

“What are you doing?” Mandy asks, but she’s smiling.

“No idea!” Ian confesses, and she throws her head back to laugh at him, the sound open and free.

They start to pick up a rhythm, stepping on each other’s feet and nearly running into other couples countless times until they’ve created a hybrid dance all their own. And if the other dancers glare at them as they fly past, it only makes them laugh harder.

~

After Fiona has updated Veronica on the strange turn of events her evening had taken, tone low to avoid being overheard by inquiring ears, Veronica takes a moment to let it all soak in, shaking her head in bewilderment.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you’re here, but you know this sounds crazy, right?”

“I swear, Vee, if I didn’t have five witnesses, I’d be sure I was losing it.”

“Fuck the why!” Kev chimes in, jovial as always. “You’re here! Enjoy it! Nobody deserves a miracle more than you do, Fi.”

Veronica smiles at her husband fondly before turning back to Fiona. “Damn straight. So let’s just kick back, eat some free food, and watch these dumb bitches elbow each other in the face to get to the prince first.”

Fiona laughs. “Oh yeah, so how’s that going? He picked his bride-to-be yet?”

“He’s still making the rounds.”

Fiona snorts. “I bet. Why would he choose on the first night when there are so many willing girls who’ll suck his dick three nights running?”

“Who could blame him?” Veronica shrugs. “Gotta work with what you got.”

“Yeah, well, when you’ve got everything, I can’t imagine it’s all that hard.”

“Oh, I’m sure he gets pretty hard for the right maiden,” Kev fires back, winking impishly.

Veronica smacks his arm as Fiona cackles. “It’s not so bad, though,” Vee continues. “He’s pretty cute, all things considered.”

“Definitely the most bangable royal I’ve seen,” Kev agrees sagely.

“How many royals have you seen?” Veronica scoffs.

“Not important.”

“I don’t think it takes much to be the most fuckable royal,” Fiona quips. “The gene pool’s been pretty fucked for generations.”

“You’d think,” Vee shrugs. “But hey, look for yourself. He’s right over there.”

She points to a spot about a hundred yards away where the cluster of brightly colored dresses is denser. Fiona catches a glimpse of a doublet, finely embroidered with golden thread, but several maidens are blocking her view, crowding around the prince eagerly.

Fiona cranes her neck for a better look, but the prince is too surrounded. She’s just about to give up and turn away when the crowd parts for a moment and she finally gets a brief, clear look at Prince Stephen. And the world grinds to a halt.

For a moment, everything feels fuzzy around her. Her ears are ringing, the shrill sound drowning out the noise of the ball still rushing around her. She is dimly aware of Veronica speaking beside her, but it sounds very far away, because there’s only one thing Fiona can focus on. Prince Stephen is goddamn motherfucking Jimmy.

The group around Jimmy presses in again, and Fiona’s haze snaps like a string. “What. The _fuck,_ ” she whispers harshly, voice rough as it scratches out of her throat.

“What? What’s going on?” Veronica asks worriedly. “You look pale – you ok?”

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Fiona mumbles, mind spinning. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What?” Vee exclaims. “Hold on. Talk to me, honey.”

Fiona takes a deep breath, eyes fixed on where Jimmy is obscured by the jostling maidens – fuck, his subjects. “It’s Jimmy.”

“Who?”

“It’s Jimmy. The prince. The fucking _prince_. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?” Veronica asks in confusion before realization slowly dawns in her eyes. “The guy with the horse? That Jimmy?”

“Yes. That Jimmy. Is Stephen. His royal fucking highness Prince Stephen. _Fuck_.” Fiona drags her hands over her face, trying to stem her panic.

“Relax, sweetie. It’s a shock, but you two got along, didn’t you?” Veronica reasons.

“Vee, I teased him,” Fiona confesses helplessly. “I practically called him a pussy to his face.”

Veronica’s eyebrows shoot up. “And he didn’t have you beheaded? Looks like the royals aren’t as bad as we’ve heard.”

“Yeah, but…” Fiona hesitates before continuing more quietly, “He’s seen our house. He’s seen how we live, seen me – and I…I don’t want…and he’s – ”

She trails off, hands clutching at her skirts anxiously. Veronica’s eyes widen in abrupt realization.

“Holy shit! You like him!”

“What? No!” Fiona splutters. “I barely know him. I only met him once.”

“But you do, don’t you?”

“No! I don’t know…there was something there, I guess. I thought. But I must have been wrong. He’s a _prince_ , Vee. There’s no way. He wouldn’t look at me twice.”

“You sure about that?” Veronica asks knowingly, “‘Cause I’m pretty sure he’s looking at you right now.”

“What?” Fiona gasps, panic flashing in her eyes. Her head swivels towards the dance floor, and indeed, the prince is walking over to them, stopping in front of Fiona.

“My lady,” he purrs, bowing, “may I have this dance?”

Fiona stands frozen, gaping at the prince’s hand, extended towards her. Veronica nudges her none-too-gently towards him, and Fiona stumbles, nearly falling into his arms. She rights herself at the last moment, shooting a glare towards Vee before gingerly taking the prince’s hand and allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor, away from Veronica and the murmurs that had erupted when the prince had approached her.

As Prince Stephen bows again in preparation for the dance, Fiona reaches up quickly to check that her mask is still in place. She drops her hands hurriedly when the prince looks up again, steeling herself as he steps forward to wrap his arm around her waist. The orchestra strikes up, and he slides her hand into his. Fiona takes a deep breath, and then the waltz begins.

Her brain scrambles to remember anything she ever knew about dancing, but Prince Stephen is a confident leader, gliding her across the floor in sweeping arcs. Fiona can feel countless eyes on her, people judging and envying and studying her, and it makes her skin itch, but Jimmy’s arm is strong around her waist, an anchor in the sea of dancers.

Time seems to compress in a blurry haze, and before she knows it, the song is ending, the people on the perimeter of the dance floor clapping politely. Fiona looks back to the prince to find him watching her, gaze locked on her face.

“Will you do me the honor of telling me your name, my lady?”

Fiona freezes, mind going completely blank. All in a rush, she blurts out, “Uh, Veronica.”

The prince smiles. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Stephen.”

 _Fucking **are** you?_ Fiona thinks viciously. Instead of saying what she desperately wishes to, though, she just smiles politely.

“So where are you from?” The prince continues pleasantly.

Fiona scrunches her nose. Is this royal small talk? Fuck.

The prince catches her look and saves her from replying. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been having the same conversation all night. Got to be a habit.”

Fiona nods silently, still trying to work out how to play this. Jimmy didn’t recognize her, and she’s not sure if she’s feeling relief or disappointment, but either way, she’s free to be someone new here. And she wants to be – she wants to be someone else for the night. But she doesn’t want to lie. The contradiction of which is making her terribly tongue-tied.

The prince doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, a smile is starting to spread across his face. “So no cliché introductions. Fair enough. What should we talk about? The music? The dancing? All the men jealous that I’m talking to the prettiest girl in the room?”

Fiona scoffs, unable to stop herself. She inwardly cringes at her gracelessness, berating herself for her inability to censor herself, even around a prince. But Jimmy’s grinning, looking pleased with himself.

“Alright, I’m getting sounds now. Words can’t be too far off. I’ll keep trying.”

Fiona rolls her eyes, but she knows she’s smiling despite herself.

“So where were we? Oh yeah, all the guys glaring daggers at my back right now because I got to you first.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Fiona mutters, ducking her head to hide her smile. “If anything, it’s all the girls in here hoping the chandelier will fall and crush me.”

Jimmy looks delighted, and with a flash, she remembers him standing by the well, grinning at her unladylike language. Without meaning to, she has found herself acting out the same play, reading the same lines. But this time, Jimmy thinks she’s someone else. Someone from his world.

The thought sobers her a little, but Jimmy is still staring at her with intrigue. He tilts his head to study her curiously. “So you didn’t notice every guy’s head turn when you entered the room?”

“No, because that didn’t happen,” Fiona maintains, her tone more teasing than she had meant for it to be.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes, voice dropping to a low murmur, “that was just me.”

Fiona feels a blush rise to her cheeks, hoping fervently that the mask is covering the flush of her skin.

“So, Lady Veronica,” Jimmy murmurs, tone low and intimate. “I know your name, I _don’t_ know where you’re from, I know you speak your mind and swear freely. Now might I see your face?”

Fiona looks around, and indeed most of the ladies have removed their masks, probably to show off their beauty to the prince. The thought of removing her own mask terrifies her. She doesn’t want to see the flash of recognition on Jimmy’s face, then the cold disappointment as he realizes that she’s not a viable option, not one of his kind – not worth his time. She doesn’t want to trick him. She isn’t trying to gain anything here. But she can’t face revealing herself, not when no one has looked at her like she’s inferior in hours. It’s a feeling she’s not ready to give up.

Jimmy is still waiting for a response, and she steels herself, finally uttering, ”No, I don’t think so.” She braces herself for the prince’s displeasure, but he merely smiles, like it’s a game.

“No? Why not?”

Fiona scrambles for a reason. “Well,” she begins haltingly, trying to couch her rejection in flirtation, “A lady must maintain an air of mystery, no?” She inwardly grimaces at her nonsensical ploy, but Jimmy seems happy enough to accept it.

“Ever the enigma. Alright, Lady Veronica. I’ll wait. Even if I can only see half your face, I can still see that you’re the loveliest girl here.”

Fiona rolls her eyes again, but doesn’t argue, not when he’s accepting her parry. But the close call has made her keenly aware of her foolishness, of the impossibility of the position she’s put herself in. There’s no future here, and the longer she lets her ruse continue, the worse it will be when it all falls apart.

And yet despite it all, when Jimmy extends his hand again and asks for another dance, she finds herself saying yes.

~

Ian’s lost track of how many songs they’ve danced to by the time they stumble off the dance floor, flushed and smiling. Ian keeps a hold of Mandy’s hand as they make a beeline for the refreshment tables. They grab a plate – a finely decorated porcelain one that alone is probably worth more than Ian’s entire wardrobe – and pile it high with food, grabbing confections indiscriminately until they have a veritable feast. They retreat to a quieter corner of the room to enjoy their spoils, leaning against the wall and watching the crowd.

Ian feels perfectly content, Mandy relaxed and happy at his side. They’ve taken to each other quickly and naturally, and Ian feels very lucky all of a sudden that Mandy is who she is. Mickey’s sister could have been anything and Ian still would have been bound to her for the night, but he’s glad that it’s Mandy here with him.

The thought of Mickey brings an unexpected thrill that shimmers beneath his skin. All at once, he wants to know more, wants to learn all about this strange boy who leaned against the stone of the well so casually and looked at him with the bluest eyes Ian’s ever seen. He glances sidelong at Mandy, swallowing his mouthful of cake before speaking up cautiously.

“So what’s the deal with your brother?” He begins, aiming for nonchalant and failing.

“Who, Mickey?” Mandy asks in surprise before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Ian scrambles to backtrack, recognizing the way Mandy’s walls shoot back up at his prying. “No, nothing, just – um, well, are you like him?”

Mandy still looks wary, though less defensive now that his questions are targeted towards her and not her brother. “Like him how?”

“Oh, you know.” Ian grabs an éclair off the plate and swings it in a haphazard imitation of a wand. “Magic.”

Mandy snorts at his performance, grabbing the éclair from him and taking a bite. “No,” she replies around her mouthful. “I’m not magical.”

Ian knows he shouldn’t be surprised, and yet somehow he still is. “You’re not?” He presses. “But you’re siblings. Why wouldn’t you both be magic?”

Mandy shrugs. “Just not how it works.”

“But you are both, um,” Ian continues, feeling terribly awkward, “fairies?”

Mandy’s lips quirk up in amusement at his discomfort. “Half. But yeah. We all are.”

“All?” Ian asks curiously. “Who’s all?”

“My brothers. I have a few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Including Mickey?” Mandy tilts her head, calculating. “Four.”

“Fuck,” Ian laughs, “that’s a lot of brothers.”

“Says the guy with, what, six siblings of his own?” Mandy challenges.

“Five,” Ian shrugs, conceding the point before getting back to the task at hand. “Are any of them magical too?”

“No. It’s just Mickey.”

“Is he the oldest or something?”

“No. Second youngest, actually,” Mandy offers. “Just above me.”

“So how does that work, then?” Ian doesn’t know why he’s pushing so much. He just knows that he’s filled with the urge to know more about Mickey, about his magic and his world.

“We don’t really know,” Mandy replies, an edge of frustration creeping into her tone. “It’s random. Probably has something to do with us only being half.”

Ian can tell Mandy wants to be done with this subject, but he can’t stop himself from asking for more. “So which of your parents is the full fairy?”

“My mom,” Mandy says shortly, and something about her voice makes it very clear to Ian that she won’t give him any more. “Come on, let’s get more champagne.”

She takes off in the direction of the tables, and Ian follows her, reluctantly letting the topic drop. He tries to push Mickey to the back of his mind and refocus on the ball, and by the end of his next champagne glass, he’s almost managed to do it. Almost.

~

 

As the hours pass by, the ball becomes more rambunctious, drinks spilling, guests stumbling into each other, laughter ringing louder and more freely. Ian and Mandy are not immune to the trend, giggling and leaning against each other as they spy on all the dramas being acted out in the crowd. When an elderly lady haughtily slaps a hook-nosed young lord for some unknown reason, Mandy has to press her face into Ian’s chest to keep her cackling subdued.

When she pulls away, she looks at his doublet, picking curiously at the fabric. “This looks different.”

“What?” Ian asks, still craning his neck to watch the aftermath of the scuffle.

“Your clothes,” Mandy maintains. “They’re darker.”

“Hmm?” Ian hums, looking down at his chest. With surprise, he realizes that she’s right. The vibrant green of the fabric has faded to a darker shade, and the silver thread looks like it has aged decades, its shine now dull and muted. “Whoa,” he mumbles, running his hand down the material and marking the changes.

“Why is it doing that?” Mandy mutters curiously.

“I don’t know,” Ian admits, though he has an idea. “Mickey said something about how it might not last as long as Fiona’s.” He quells the disappointment that threatens to rise in his throat, refocusing on Mandy. “Do you think that’s gonna happen to yours too?” He asks with some concern.

Mandy shakes her head. “No, it won’t,” she says certainly.

“How do you know?”

“Because mine’s not magic,” she admits. At Ian’s inquisitive look, she relents. “I made it.”

Ian gapes at her in amazement. “You _made_ your dress?” She shrugs, but he can see a faint blush tinting her cheeks. “But why didn’t Mickey make you one?”

“He couldn’t.”

“Why not?” He demands, trying to make sense of this new development.

“He just couldn’t, it’s not part of the rules.”

Those rules again. Ian feels that need to understand rushing in to crowd his mind, and he’s speaking before he even knows it. “What rules?”

Mandy looks exasperated again, sighing heavily. “He could only really do stuff for Fiona. Look, it’s not worth going into right now. It’s fine.”

“But he made mine,” Ian insists.

“Yeah, well. He bends the rules when he can. You’re Fiona-adjacent. But he couldn’t do anything for me, so I made my own dress. It’s not a big deal.” She crosses her arms defensively, and Ian instantly regrets pushing her on this again. He reaches forward to finger Mandy’s skirts appreciatively.

“I can’t believe you made this,” he marvels, thumbing at the violet fabric. He notices now that her dress is less fine than Fiona’s, the material less decadent. But it’s well-made and lovely, and it suits Mandy perfectly. “It’s beautiful, Mandy. You’re really good.”

Mandy ducks her head down to hide her smile, and Ian’s shoulders relax now that he’s made her happy again. He looks back at his own clothes, and it occurs to him that it must be rapidly approaching midnight. He swivels his head around to look for a clock, and indeed it’s about a twenty minutes to the hour.

“It’s getting late,” he urges, taking Mandy’s hand. “Fiona’s dress may last longer than my clothes, but midnight’s still our cue to get out of here.”

Mandy nods, following him as he pulls her through the crowd. They rejoin Kev and Vee, who have taken up their position at the edge of the dance floor again. Veronica leans against Kev’s chest as they sway gently to the music, looking out into the mess of dancers.

“Hey, guys, you seen Fiona? We need to leave,” Ian asks, scanning the crowd for his sister.

“Yeah, she’s right over there,” Veronica muses sleepily, gesturing towards the corner of the dance floor. “With the prince.”

“What?!” Ian starts, eyes darting towards the area Vee pointed to. Sure enough, there is Fiona, dancing with a young man dressed in gold. Her mask is still on, but she’s smiling. Ian stares in astonishment as the prince whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back to laugh.

“The prince is straight up smitten with your sister, bro,” Kev confides, nudging Ian’s shoulder conspiratorially.

Ian’s mind floods with questions, but just then a clock dings once, signaling a quarter to midnight. “Shit,” Ian mutters. “We really have to go. What do we do?”

Veronica shoots him a judgmental look before standing up straight. “Follow me.”

She begins to march around the perimeter of the dance floor, and the group hustles to follow her, halting at the far corner just as Fiona and the prince land there in their arc around the room. Veronica’s hand darts out, grasping Fiona’s forearm gently but firmly. Fiona looks up in surprise before relaxing when she sees who it is.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Veronica says politely, “But I’m afraid I need to borrow her for a moment.”

The prince nods, moving a few feet away to wait at the edge of the floor. Fiona looks like she’s been caught misbehaving, and Ian wishes she wouldn’t. He won’t pretend it isn’t a little strange to see his sister so intimate with a prince, but it’s also nice to see her smile like that. He hates to have to end her night, but he remembers Mickey’s stern tone and doesn’t want to risk whatever might happen after midnight.

“I’m sorry, Fi, but we need to go. It’s almost midnight,” Ian says apologetically.

Fiona nods before setting her shoulders, ready to complete a task yet again. She glances back at the prince hesitantly.

“Go say goodbye,” Veronica insists. Fiona hesitates, and Vee sighs impatiently before taking her arm and pulling her towards the prince.

“Everything alright?” He inquires when they return to him.

“I, um. I’m afraid I need to leave,” Fiona admits, smiling apologetically.

“So early?” Jimmy asks in dismay, looking genuinely upset. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, we just need to go. I’m sorry.” She says regretfully.

“We?” He inquires, jealousy creeping into his tone.

“My brother,” Fiona smiles at him indulgently. “And our friend.”

“Oh, your brother!” The prince says exuberantly, posture relaxing. “Can I meet him?”

“Um, maybe some other time. We really need to be going,” Fiona insists.

“Tomorrow, then,” the prince says warmly.

“Uh, ok,” Fiona agrees dumbly. “Tomorrow.”

The prince reaches forward then, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses the back of her hand gently, eyes never leaving hers. Fiona holds her breath, sure that the entire room can hear the way her blood rushes in her ears.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Veronica.”

“Veronica?” Vee barks incredulously, but Fiona ignores her, inclining her head in a slight nod towards the prince. Then she pulls her hand away, loops her arm through Vee’s, and rushes towards the rest of their group.

“Why does he think your name’s Veronica?” Vee hisses in her ear as they depart.

“I couldn’t exactly tell him my real name, could I?” Fiona fires back. “It was the first name I could think of!”

Veronica shakes her head. “You’re a mess, girl. You’re lucky I’m not trying to land him myself or we’d have a real problem.”

They smile at each other before exchanging quick goodbyes, Fiona watching the clock tick out of the corner of her eye. Then they’re leaving Kev and Vee behind as they hurry up the stairs and out into the night air, chillier and damper than it was before.

The carriage races away from the castle as if cognizant of the hour, and Ian grips onto the seat as they swing precariously around corners. He doesn’t know how close it is to midnight, but every second feels urgent, like they’re being chased by the invisible spectre of time.

In what feels like mere moments, they’re pulling up to the Gallagher cottage. The carriage is still in motion, gradually easing to a stop, when it begins to shift, the solid walls bending and separating into vines, the night sky peeking through the holes. The three of them scramble out of the carriage the moment it comes to a halt and turn to watch as it shudders and twists until it’s a pumpkin again, sitting still and unassuming in the middle of the road.

The rest of the Gallaghers are standing behind them, having come out at the noise of their approach. They all watch as the magic expires, the horses shrinking back into mice, Ian and Fiona’s clothing weaving back into their unimpressive everyday garments. Ian sighs quietly. He’s back to himself again.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

They all jump before turning to face Mickey, who’s sitting up on the gate off to the side of the group. Mickey grins, clearly pleased he startled them and got to see the results, and Ian rolls his eyes even as he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t realize we risked becoming one with a pumpkin if we were a few minutes late,” Fiona says wryly, staring at the squash in question, which suddenly looks very tiny indeed.

“Midnight means midnight,” Mickey shrugs unapologetically. “I don’t fuck around with this stuff. Neither should you.”

Fiona nods absently, watching as the erstwhile horses, now mice again, begin to scurry in a confused circle.

“Might want to catch those. You’ll need them for tomorrow.” Mickey remarks, and Ian feels a thrill run through him at the reminder that his adventure isn’t over. There are two more nights of the festival. The thought makes his heart race.

Carl moves forward to collect the animals, and Mickey snorts, shaking his head in amusement. Ian can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips too.

“Take care of them,” Fiona tells Carl sternly, though her gaze is softer as she watches him chase the flittering mice.

“I will,” Carl promises solemnly, finally catching one of the creatures and easing him gently into the cage that lies on the road, fully intact again.

Fiona finally turns towards the cottage, leaving Carl to his task, and puts her hands on her hips. “What are you all still doing up?” She demands, the picture of discipline.

“How could we sleep?” Debbie fires back. “Tell us everything!”

Fiona shakes her head. “It’s late. You need to be asleep. We’ll go through everything tomorrow.”

Debbie whines pathetically, but Lip ruffles her hair before settling an arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, Debs, time for bed. We’ll get to hear about it all tomorrow.” He guides a pouting Debbie up the path and back into the house, shooting a look back over his shoulder before disappearing inside.

Fiona glances towards Mickey, who is still perched upon the gate. Ian wonders if he ever just stands normally, or if he always comes with a whole host of items and structures to lean against indolently.

“So…”

Mickey smiles and hops down from the gate. “Have fun?”

Fiona is silent for a moment, but when he just continues to look at her, she finally nods.

“Good,” he says, flashing a quick grin. “’Cause you’ve got two more night of this.”

Fiona looks hesitant for an instant, some battle warring behind her eyes. “What if I don’t want to go?”

Mickey looks unimpressed. “Is that the case?”

Fiona pauses again before relenting, shaking her head.

“Then we don’t have an issue,” Mickey says simply. “Stop trying to find problems that aren’t there,” he continues in mild exasperation. “So, same deal tomorrow, okay?”

Fiona nods, still subdued, and gathers up Carl, who has managed to wrangle both mice back into the cage. They make their way back into the cottage, but Ian hangs back, suddenly reluctant to leave.

Mickey is looking softly at Mandy, a tenderness in his gaze that makes warmth flare in Ian’s stomach. “How was it?” He asks his sister, focus entirely on her.

Mandy shrugs, but Ian can see the pleased tilt of her lips, and he knows Mickey can see it too, if the small smile he gives her is any indication.

“C’mon, let’s go home,” Mickey says, and Mandy nods. She shoots Ian a grin, squeezing his forearm before sidling up to her brother. Mickey watches the exchange curiously. “Actually, you go on ahead,” he decides. “I gotta talk to him for a second.”

Mandy’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue, moving down the road until she reaches the edge of the gate, swinging around the corner and down towards the field that leads to the woods. Ian spares a moment to wonder where exactly they live before turning his gaze back to Mickey, who’s pinning him with a contemplative look.

“So how’d it go?” He pipes up when Mandy is out of earshot.

“Well, I think,” Ian replies. “She’s a great girl,” he continues, feeling a smile rise to his lips.

Mickey’s thoughtful look turns to steel in an instant. “If you’re getting any ideas about her…” he begins fiercely.

“No, no, no!” Ian insists frantically, brain scrambling to dispossess Mickey of his assumption. He is suddenly seized with the mad urge to tell Mickey about every awkward fumble he’s ever had with one of the village boys, every sloppy hand-job or quick romp in a field. He stops himself, knows that he ought not to spill every lewd detail of his history to a relative stranger. But for some unknown reason, he suddenly wants Mickey to know about him as much as he wants to know about Mickey.

Instead, he settles for shaking his head firmly. “No, it’s not like that at all. I swear. I just want to be her friend.”

Mickey relaxes marginally, though he still looks at Ian with distrust. Ian wants to wipe that expression off his face, craving the soft look Mickey had given his sister again. Only directed towards him this time.

“Alright,” Mickey concedes warily. “Just keep it that way, alright?”

“I will,” Ian promises. “Trust me.”

Mickey scoffs, and Ian tries not to visibly wince. Then Mickey settles, shoulders easing. “She looked happy, though. You must have done an okay job.” He shoots Ian a half-smile then, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“We had fun,” Ian agrees, resolutely ignoring the way his stomach is fluttering. He doesn’t know what’s up with him.

Mickey nods, satisfied for the moment. “Good then. Get some sleep, Ginger Surprise. You got another big day tomorrow.”

“Ian,” Ian calls out, surprising both himself and Mickey, who turns back around to glance at him curiously. “Call me Ian.”

“Ian, huh?” Mickey says slowly, and Ian feels something delicious tug deep in his belly at the way Mickey’s tongue curves around his name.

They stare at each other for a suspended minute, and then Mickey inclines his head in a slight nod. “Ok. Goodnight, Ian.” Ian’s breath hitches, but Mickey’s already moving, sauntering down the road after Mandy. Ian watches until he disappears, his skin buzzing.

He stands there for a moment, finally alone for the first time in hours, his mind reeling to make sense of all that has happened this evening. None of it meets any sort of logic, and yet Ian can see it all replaying in his head, more real and vivid than the world around him right now. He feels a little wild, like something has shifted while his eyes were closed and he opened them to find a new world he doesn’t yet understand. He wants to, though, wants to be in this world that suddenly feels so full of possibility. He thinks maybe he’s wanted that for a lot longer than he realizes.

He takes another minute to gather himself, and goes inside. The house is quiet when he enters, his siblings settling in for the night. Ian slips into the boys’ room and silently undresses, fingering the clothes that were so fine mere moments ago. He slides into his tiny bed and burrows under the covers, blocking out the sounds of his brothers rustling around him. His mind is racing, and he’s sure he’ll never be able to sleep. But exhaustion rushes upon him without warning, pulling him under and into fevered dreams of glittering chandeliers, swirling dancers, and blue, blue eyes.

~

The next day is the polar opposite of the day before. Where the previous day had been muted and rife with disappointment, today is filled with excitement about the night before and the night to come. Debbie had forced Fiona to give them all an excruciatingly detailed play by play of their experience at the ball at breakfast, gasping and squealing at all the right moments. The rest of the Gallaghers listened just as intently despite their pretentions of remaining aloof. Even Carl remained at the breakfast table long into the morning, enraptured by Fiona’s tale.

Ian pitched in with details and observations from time to time, but was mostly content to sit back and enjoy the way that Fiona’s eyes lit up every time she described something new. When she mentioned the prince asking her to dance, Debbie’s reaction was immediate and extreme, her hands flying to her mouth as her skin turned as red as her hair from sheer enthusiasm.

Veronica comes over in the afternoon, as promised, and she gives Debbie her own account of her experience at the palace. Carl and Liam have gone to play outside, and Lip leans against the wall, pretending to be occupied with other things, but Ian knows he’s listening to Vee, fascinated by her story. Ian smirks at his brother’s feigned nonchalance and pours himself another cup of tea.

Debbie is asking Veronica about the prince, and Ian sees Fiona and Vee exchange a private look. There’s something furtive about the exchange, and Ian resolves to ask Fiona about it later. But then Debbie’s asking Ian if he danced with any princesses, and he forgets all about the strange moment.

This time, the slow dipping of the sun as the afternoon crawls on feels tantalizing, every minute bringing Ian closer to the second ball. His siblings’ moods are considerably lifted too, riding off of the high of the adventure Ian and Fiona are in the midst of having. Ian feels an immense fondness for his family and their lack of bitterness or jealousy. They seem to be merely happy for their siblings, and Ian remembers that even without the magic and the miracles he’s experiencing, he’s still so very lucky.

Afternoon finally turns to evening, and Ian feels breathless with anticipation, knowing what’s to come. He wonders what Fiona’s dress will look like tonight, what food will be served, what drama will occur within the crowd tonight.

And in a few hours, he’ll see Mickey again. The thought makes his chest flutter, but he tamps down on his eagerness, justifying to himself that he’s excited to see Mandy too. It’s fine. It’s normal.

As the sun falls below the horizon, Ian has to quell the urge to go out into the backyard to wait for them like a dog awaiting the return of his master. His siblings are watching the doors too, fidgeting and shifting around.

At last, a knock sounds on the front door. Ian jumps up to answer it, but Debbie is already there, swinging it open and smiling widely at the pair behind it. Ian grins at the sight of them, and Debbie is practically vibrating with glee. Mickey and Mandy blink at her owlishly, but she only beams harder.

“Hi,” she says cheerfully.

“Yeah, ok,” Mickey mumbles, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. He looks past a still-grinning Debbie to meet Fiona’s eye. “We ready for round two?”

Fiona nods, and then it’s all a flurry of motion as they hustle to prepare, Carl grabbing the mice before the Gallaghers gracelessly pile out onto the front path.

It happens very quickly from there. Mickey pulls out his wand, and with a few sweeping motions and a shower of sparks, Fiona’s simple dress is transformed into a stunning gown. This evening, her dress is made of luxurious deep red satin, the vibrant color standing out beautifully against her pale skin. Diamonds settle against her collarbone and wrist, and her hair takes on a glossy sheen. She lifts her skirts to reveal the same glass slippers, and she doesn’t seem the least bit disappointed to see the familiar footwear.

Mandy’s handmade dress is a lovely cobalt blue, so Mickey enchants Ian’s clothes into a slightly lighter blue to complement it. This time, gold thread weaves itself into filigree patterns across his chest. He didn’t think he could love a garment as much as he did last night’s attire, and yet here he is.

The carriage and horses are the same – Ian supposes that even rich people usually limit themselves to just one ridiculously ornate carriage – and Mickey hands them their masks again. Ian’s fingers brush against Mickey’s when he takes his mask, and the spark he feels at the contact could very well be a lingering remnant from the magic that Mickey has just performed. It could be.

“Midnight again?” Ian asks needlessly as he hops up into the carriage.

“You know it, champ,” Mickey says with a click of his tongue. Ian bites back a grin, opting instead to reach down for Fiona’s hand as she pulls herself through the carriage door. Then Mickey’s gone, his siblings only slightly flinching this time at his sudden disappearance. Fiona tells the carriage to go, and they’re off, speeding towards the palace.

They’re all more comfortable tonight, better acquainted with each other and what to expect when they arrive. They chat casually, Fiona and Mandy finally having a proper conversation. When Fiona learns that Mandy made both her dresses herself, she rains praise upon her, and Mandy lights up even as she flushes in embarrassment. She’s looking at his sister like Fiona’s an actual princess, and Ian wonders when the last time Mandy had a female friend was. If she ever even had one at all. The thought makes him intensely sad, and he feels a rush of affection for Fiona, who’s doing her very best to make Mandy feel good.

The palace is foreign and familiar all at once, and they enter the ballroom to fewer stares and whispers, already accepted as part of this world. Tonight, the walls are adorned with bright sashes and banners, and the window-paneled doors along the back the room are thrown open, people idly wandering out into the gardens beyond.

They find Kev and Veronica quickly, and Ian and Mandy split off to grab food and drinks before moving out into the grounds. For the second ball, the palace is hosting a collection of entertainments for the guests, and Ian and Mandy dash from act to act, taking in acrobats, musicians, even a magician. Mandy scoffs and points out all his tricks as Ian struggles not to laugh. When you’ve seen real magic, cheap illusions can no longer compare. He longs to hear what Mickey would have to say to the spectacle. He finds himself wishing that Mickey were here with him too.

Then a nearby tumbler clacks two sticks together and they erupt into a colorful column of sparks, and Mandy pulls Ian towards the lights.

~

Fiona glances around the crowd casually, trying to pretend that she’s not looking for Jimmy. She can’t see him, but she keeps her mask firmly in place just in case, though she’s one of the only people still wearing a mask at this stage in the festival. She’s distracted from her perusal when Kev hands her another drink, and she smiles at him gratefully. She throws herself into conversation with Vee and Kev, doing her best to focus on the moment at hand. Last night had been a fluke – there’s no reason to expect that the prince will seek her out again tonight. After all, when had men done anything but let her down? It would be foolish to assume Jimmy would be any different just because he was, well, not Jimmy.

Fiona’s attempting to reprogram her brain to think of him as Prince Stephen rather than Jimmy, when all of a sudden, she hears a voice call out.

“Lady Veronica!”

Vee looks up automatically before rolling her eyes and nudging Fiona. Fiona follows the tilt of Vee’s head to see Jimmy – Prince Stephen, that is – standing a few yards away from her. He’s grinning at her, looking almost relieved, and Fiona feels her cheeks warming.

The prince walks up to them swiftly. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says warmly.

“Well, here I am,” she says simply, unsure what to say in the face of his overt attention.

He chuckles in response. “So you are. Would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?” He requests, nodding politely to Vee.

“Oh, um, this is Veronica,” Fiona answers blandly before realizing her mistake. She presses her lips together anxiously, but Jimmy doesn’t look suspicious, just surprised.

“You’re both named Veronica?”

“Mmm. Fancy that.” Vee says dryly. Fiona winces.

The prince opens his mouth, undoubtedly to ask more questions, but Fiona cuts him off before he can request any more information she can’t give him. “How are you enjoying the ball, my lord?”

“My lord,” Jimmy echoes, scrunching his nose. “Please call my Stephen.” At Fiona’s nod, he continues. “I’m enjoying it much more now that I’ve found you. Would you like to take a turn about the grounds? There’s supposed to be a conjurer from Cronwyth who’s said to be truly spectacular. Your friend is welcome to join us, of course.”

“Nah, we’re good here,” Vee chimes in easily, “But she’d love to go with you.”

Jimmy smiles at Vee’s candour before offering his arm to Fiona. She slips her hand through it, and he leads her across the ballroom. They spend the next few hours in amiable conversation, splitting their time between the attractions outside and the dancing within the ballroom.

Against all logic, Fiona finds herself at ease with the prince, and more often than not she forgets all sense of custom, teasing and cursing and generally behaving all too much like herself. To his credit, the prince seems charmed by her brazenness. Fiona reminds herself again and again that it’s temporary –that she’s nothing better than a momentary distraction. That even if the prince has greater intentions, those will quickly dissipate the moment he realizes who Fiona really is.

Of course, Fiona has no intention of ever letting it get to that point. After tomorrow night, she will return to her life, and the prince will forget about her. She looks at Jimmy, who is laughing helplessly at a (mostly true) story she just told, and hopes fervently that after all this, she’ll be able to forget him just as easily.

~

By the time the clock strikes 11:30, Ian is well on his way towards drunk. He and Mandy had snagged an entire bottle of champagne from one of the tables and had sat upon a set of steps behind the castle, watching a group of minstrels and passing the bottle back and forth between them. Ian hadn’t realized just how much he’d had to drink until they’d stood up and the world had spun around him. He keeps a tight hold of Mandy’s hand to keep himself upright, and they set off in search of Fiona, not keen to cut it quite so close this time around, lest they end up trapped in a pumpkin.

Fiona is with the prince again, and Ian resolves to interrogate his sister on what’s going on there even as they make their apologies and exit the ballroom. Ian and Mandy chatter animatedly throughout the ride back home, and Fiona watches them in amusement, far too sober for their tipsy ramblings.

The carriage arrives at the Gallagher cottage fully intact, and Ian and Mandy high-five in triumph as they spill out onto the road. A snort sounds a few feet away, and there is Mickey, leaning against the gate, the picture of nonchalance. Ian beams at him, knowing full well that he must look like an idiot, but utterly unable to control his reaction to the sight of Mickey.

“So did you have fun?” Mickey intones knowingly.

“Mmhmm,” Mandy assures him, skipping over to throw her arms around his neck. He grumbles, shaking her off, and she settles against the gate beside him, bumping his hip with her own.

Ian watches them, swaying a little to the memory of orchestra music playing in his head. He wants to go over there, wants to be a part of them, wants to be able to play and tease and touch Mickey so casually. He doesn’t understand it, the way he feels drawn towards this boy. He tells himself it must be the alcohol making him affectionate, resolutely ignoring the thought of all the men at the ball tonight whose handsome faces Ian hadn’t even given a second glance. It doesn’t mean anything.

His siblings are starting to wander out of the cottage, unwilling to miss the phenomenon of the horses and carriage returning to their natural forms. Even watching the magic technically wear off feels like its own magic.

They watch in relative silence as the grandeur of the carriage dwindles down into a humble pumpkin again. Ian feels his clothing thin, holes in the fabric opening up again, but the cool air feels good against his flushed skin, the chill clearing his head a little. Finally, all is as it was before, and Mickey nudges his sister.

“Time to go home,” he says quietly.

Mandy just sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’m tired. Let’s just stay here.”

Mickey looks down at her lolling head in amusement. “Nuh-uh. There isn’t room for us in there anyway. We gotta go.”

Mandy whines dismally, burrowing deeper into Mickey’s shoulder.

“Fuck, it’s gonna be real fun getting you back, isn’t it?” Mickey murmurs, shaking his head.

“I can help you,” Ian blurts, suddenly eager to see where they live. “If you want.”

“Nah, Gallagher, we’re good. I got this.” Mickey loops an arm around Mandy’s waist and hoists her upright. Ian resists the urge to spring forward to help, or maybe just to touch Mickey. He feels a desperate compulsion to feel Mickey’s skin against his once more before he goes, just to feel that spark that seems to spring to life every time they touch.

He wills himself to stay back, and then Mickey’s turning, Mandy in tow. She glances back over her shoulder lazily, shouting out “Bye, Ian!”

“Bye, Mandy,” Ian calls back fondly. “See you tomorrow.”

When they’re gone, Ian turns back to find Fiona looking at him shrewdly. He slides by her silently, determinedly avoiding her gaze. He flops into bed, the alcohol in his system making his eyelids heavy, and he falls asleep almost immediately.

~

The final day of the festival brings with it a conflicting mess of emotions. On the one hand, Ian is eager for the ball, imagination filled with visions of what could lie in store for him tonight. On the other hand, though, the knowledge that his strange, impossible adventure is coming to an end adds an element of wistfulness to each thrill of excitement. Ian is determined to savor every moment of the evening, but in a way, he also wants it never to arrive. While it’s still daylight, he still has something wondrous to look forward to.

He also very much does not want to think about how tonight might be the last time he’ll see Mickey and Mandy. His affection for Mandy has already grown to immense levels, the bond between them shockingly strong after only two nights. Something about their shared awe and outsider status at the festival has fast-tracked them to intimacy, and Ian is so much happier for having her in his life. He doesn’t want to lose that friendship.

Mickey is an entirely different story. He shouldn’t care about seeing Mickey again – he doesn’t really know why he does. Mickey has barely said ten words to him directly, and most of them were judgmental or standoffish. The man is brash and aloof and borderline unfriendly. He should be nothing to Ian but a mild annoyance.

And yet Ian can’t shake the vision of Mickey’s lips curving into a smile out of his mind, or that soft look he only gives his sister, or the way he hums Ian’s name. He can’t forget the electric warmth of his skin or the blue of his eyes or the grace of his fingers. Most of all, Ian can’t get over the way his whole body seems to buzz delectably whenever Mickey is near. He doesn’t want to lose that either.

This time, he doesn’t even try to play it cool – the moment the sun starts to set, Ian slips out the back door to wait for Mickey and Mandy to arrive. He paces for a few moments before sprawling out in the grass beyond the back gate, looking up into the sky and trying to reorder his swirling feelings into something that makes sense. As the first stars blink into view in the sky, he sits up, scanning the line of the woods beyond for any sight of the pair.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, two dark figures emerge from the tangle of trees. Ian makes note of the precise location of their exit for future reference, hugging his knees to his chest and settling in to watch their approach. He catalogues each quirk in their movements: how Mickey struts forward with such purpose, legs slightly turned out, while Mandy weaves around, every so often crashing into Mickey’s side and skittering away before he can smack her. Ian can’t help but smile. They’re so similar, and yet so unique to themselves. He wants to know so much more about them. He needs more time.

He springs to his feet when they’re about 30 yards away, moving forward to meet them. Mandy loops her arms around his neck, and he lifts her up a little, smiling into her hair. The way she holds him just a little too tight makes him think that maybe she’s not ready to say goodbye to him either.

“Hey,” he murmurs affectionately when they’ve separated. “You look beautiful.”

Mandy can’t hide her pleased smile, but that doesn’t stop her from punching his shoulder lightly. “You look average.”

Ian chuckles. “We’ll see what you say after your brother classes me up.”

Mandy shrugs. “He’ll try, but there’s only so much he can do.”

Ian bumps her shoulder, grinning as she laughs at him. Then he turns to Mickey, who’s watching them both with his eyebrows raised.

“Hey,” Ian exhales, hating how breathless his voice sounds.

Mickey only nods at him before moving towards the Gallagher cottage silently.

“Ignore him,” Mandy says, rolling her eyes. “He always gets weird at the end of an assignment. I think his magic goes a little haywire, messes him up.”

Ian feels a flash of concern race through him. “He ok?”

“He’s fine,” Mandy reassures. “Just a little edgy. Come on.” She grabs his hand and tugs him towards the cottage after Mickey.

Fiona has come out to meet Mickey, and Ian and Mandy are just within earshot when Fiona asks, “So what happens after tonight?”

Mickey lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “You go back to your life, the proud owner of a shiny new set of glamorous memories.”

“That’s it?” Fiona asks incredulously. “You just fuck off again and we go back to normal, like nothing ever happened?”

“What did you expect?” Mickey fires back irritably. “The festival only goes for three days. You want me to start sending you to parties in other kingdoms?”

“I want you to help us!” Fiona exclaims. “This has been fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong. But where were you when we were starving, doing everything we could to survive? Why are you making us fancy carriages instead of food, or money, or a roof that doesn’t have huge holes in it? Why this, why now? What is the point of all this?”

Mickey presses his lips together in a hard line, arms crossed in frustration. “Look, I told you, I don’t make the rules. I can only do what I was sent here to do. Anything else just wouldn’t fuckin’ work, alright? So you can bitch at me all you want, but it ain’t gonna change anything.”

Fiona looks like she wants to continue arguing for a moment, but then she sighs and hangs her head. Ian knows she’s grappling with more than he understands, and he wishes he’d found some time to talk to her today instead of spending the hours fretting and wondering about Mickey and Mandy.

“So are we good?” Mickey asks after a tense, silent moment. “Can we get on with this shit please?”

They all look to Fiona, who nods sullenly. She brushes past Mickey to call for her siblings, but he darts a hand out to grasp her forearm.

“Listen, I – I’m sorry,” he mutters lowly. “I wish there were somethin’ I could do.”

Fiona looks at him, face softening, before nodding in acknowledgment. Ian feels his heart clench at the exchange. For a moment, there is such weariness in the two of them, standing together in silent understanding, and Ian thinks they might have more in common than they’ll ever realize.

When the rest of the Gallaghers join them outside, the somber mood lifts considerably, Debbie’s enthusiasm raising everyone’s spirits. Ian tries to heed Debbie’s example and focus on the joy of the evening, not the clock counting down to its conclusion.

Fiona’s final dress is the most spectacular. When the sparks settle, Fiona is draped in white silk so bright it seems to emit its own light. The bodice is trimmed in fine lace, the sheer material stretching towards her collarbones and over her shoulders. Emeralds provide bursts of color on her ears and wrists, and as always, the glass slippers glitter at her feet.

As his siblings fawn over Fiona’s gown, Ian shuffles to the side to receive his own treatment. Mickey looks at him appraisingly for a moment before lifting his wand, and this time, Ian watches him instead of looking down to witness his own transformation. He takes in the focus on Mickey’s face, the way he draws his eyebrows together and bites his lip in concentration. He looks Ian up and down when he’s finished, and Ian feels warmth tingle from his spine to his toes in answer.

Mickey steps away to grab the mice from Carl, and only then does Ian study his appearance, admiring the bronze-colored doublet that sits snugly against his skin. He feels the air shift by his side, and looks up to find Mandy grinning at him.

“Not bad, I guess,” she teases, and he sticks his tongue out at her before taking her hand and pulling her around to the front of the cottage.

When everything has been enchanted, the girls climb up into the carriage, and Ian pauses, one foot on the step.

“You’ll be here when we get back, right?” Ian asks quietly, leaning towards Mickey. He knows it’s a foolish question – of course he’ll be back to pick up Mandy. But Ian feels nervous, antsy, and wants the simple reassurance that he’ll get to see Mickey at least one more time.

“Yeah, man,” Mickey answers, giving him an odd look. “’Course.”

“Good,” Ian murmurs, nodding. “Good.” He takes one last glance at Mickey, then hoists himself into the carriage, feeling Mickey’s gaze burning into the back of his neck.

The palace seems to vibrate with energy when they arrive, everything somehow brighter and more frenetic in the final hours of the festival, like a star about to burn out. They are hit with a wave of sound when they enter the ballroom, music cascading towards them over the swirl of voices and tinkling glass.

The prince meets them at the bottom of the steps, eyes locked on Fiona. She smiles at him as he takes her hand and brings it to his lips, and Ian studies the prince. He’s clearly half in love with his sister already, and Ian would give anything to know what is in Fiona’s head at this very moment. He can tell his sister feels something for Prince Stephen too, but she’s holding herself carefully, caution still written across the lines of her shoulders, and her mask is still in place, as ever.

“You must be the brother,” the prince says amiably, inclining his head towards Ian.

“Um, yeah, hi. I’m Ian,” he answers lamely, holding out a hand automatically. He cringes, unsure if it’s the royal custom to shake hands, wondering if it’s even appropriate to do so. But the prince takes his hand jovially, grasping it firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles. “I’m Stephen.”

Ian bites back the urge to snort – of course he knows who the prince is – and gestures towards Mandy, introducing her as well. After basic pleasantries have been exchanged, the trio deftly avoiding giving any specific information, the prince offers to gather them some drinks.

He leads them past the refreshment tables, though, and towards the far end of the room, where the thrones sit on a dais. There are a few tables adjacent to the platform, adorned with food that is somehow even fancier and more impressive than the spread on the main tables.

The three of them hang back awkwardly until the prince notices their hesitation. He urges them to help themselves, and Ian and Mandy shuffle forward awkwardly, picking at the dishes far more daintily than they had the previous evenings. Ian can see the king and queen watching them from their place upon the thrones, and he tries to ignore the uncomfortable prickling of his skin.

The prince seems oblivious to the tension in the air, chattering convivially. He leads them a few feet away from the tables so they can watch the crowd, and the prince turns to Ian.

“So, Ian, you look like an athletic young lad. I bet you’re a fine swordsman. Which technique do you prefer?”

Ian feels panic bells ringing around his skull as he strains to remember anything he’s ever heard about swordplay. “Um, you know,” he offers helplessly, “A bit of all of them.”

The prince smiles. “Fair enough. I never could focus enough to specialize in any one school. My swordmaster despaired of me. I’m afraid I’ll be useless if we ever go to war.”

“Not like you’d be the one fighting anyway,” Fiona ribs, her apprehensive demeanor easing a bit as she finds her way back into familiar teasing territory.

The prince barks out a laugh. “True. I guess the days of warlord kings are over. My ancestors took this land by might and force of will. Now the best we can do is throw parties.”

“Some party, though,” Fiona muses, looking out at the ballroom in appreciation.

While Fiona’s attention is turned towards the ball, the prince takes the opportunity to stare at her, open admiration written across his face. Ian feels like he’s intruding on a private moment somehow, and he turns to Mandy, eager to escape any more awkward questions anyway.

“You wanna dance?” He asks, and Mandy gratefully agrees. Ian glances towards his sister to make sure she’s alright, and she smiles at him, nodding her permission. He pulls Mandy towards the dance floor, looking over his shoulder one last time. The prince and Fiona are standing close to each other, in their own world, and Ian notices the king staring at them, a frown upon his face. Ian feels an anxious lurch in his stomach, but then the crowd swallows them up, and he can only focus on keeping hold of Mandy’s hand.

~

Despite Jimmy’s cluelessness, Fiona still feels a bit out of place, standing so near to the throne platform. Most of the guests instinctually avoid this area of the room, keeping their distance from the section of the hall that is most clearly a royal domain, and Fiona feels even more like an interloper than usual. But she tries to shake her unease as Jimmy continues to talk away. Within a few moments, she’s forgotten her discomfort and is back to bantering with Jimmy, and she’s feeling perilously close to happy when the king appears and taps Jimmy on the shoulder.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, son?” King Lloyd asks, tone polite but clipped. “Privately?”

“Father, I’m – ”

“Now, Stephen,” the king maintains firmly, giving Fiona a tight smile before moving a few feet away. Jimmy looks to Fiona helplessly, and she smiles at him weakly, trying to put him at ease.

“I’m sorry, he’s – ”

“It’s fine,” she promises. “Go ahead, talk to your father.”

Jimmy squeezes her arm before following the king, and Fiona looks out into the crowd again, trying to look occupied. But her ears pick up the sound of the king’s voice, hushed but not quiet enough, and she can’t stop herself from listening in.

“You should spend some time with your other guests, Stephen,” King Lloyd instructs, the lightness of his tone doing nothing to mask the steel underneath.

“I have,” Jimmy says defensively. “Enough, at least. Now I’m going to spend time with Lady Veronica.”

“You’re being rude, son,” the king insists. “You’ve been ignoring all the nobles who have traveled so far to see you. Why don’t you go ask Princess Estefania to dance? She’s looking very lovely tonight.”

“Stop it, Dad,” Jimmy contends. “I don’t want to go flirt with any more princesses. You wanted me to find someone to marry? Well, I have. It’s Lady Veronica. There’s no point in courting anyone else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the king sneers, “Who is this girl? No name, no family to speak of. She’s very beautiful, but she’s not suitable for you, Stephen. Have your fun with her, but don’t let yourself get carried away.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jimmy fires back, incensed. “Isn’t it my choice who I take as a bride? It seems to me that the only person who can tell me I shouldn’t marry her is Lady Veronica herself.”

King Lloyd looks at Jimmy contemptuously. “Surely you don’t believe that. Once your lust clears, my son, you’ll see that this is nothing more than an infatuation. Fuck her if you wish, but be smart enough to know that you cannot be a good king without an advantageous marriage. It’s time you grew up, Stephen.”

The king claps a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, squeezing painfully, and then he retreats back to his throne. Jimmy stands still for a moment, and Fiona tries to quash the humiliation clouding around her. When the prince finally makes his way back to her, she tries to look like she’s very involved in watching the crowd.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jimmy mutters, feet locked on the ground. “My father…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fiona assures him, hoping he can’t hear the strain in her voice.

“Do you want to take a walk?” Jimmy asks, nodding his head towards the doors to the gardens.

Truthfully, she wants to go find somewhere to hide and never come out. The shame she feels is overwhelming, the disdain in the king’s voice crawling under her skin, and she’s mad at herself for caring, knowing she shouldn’t give a fuck what these people think of her. She owes nothing to them. But Jimmy is looking at her softly, and her heart constricts. She should never have let it all get this far. Still, she finds herself nodding, and Jimmy offers her his arm before leading her outside, the king glaring after them.

The cool air helps calm Fiona down a little, and she’s grateful for the relative privacy, the grounds sparsely populated now that there aren’t any acts present. They walk silently for a while, venturing deeper and deeper into the gardens.

Eventually, they find themselves in a clearing, a fountain gently trickling in the center. Fiona sits on the ledge and looks up into the night sky, Jimmy facing a few feet away from her.

“I’m sorry about my father,” he blurts out, breaking the silence. “He just wanted to tell me a few things. But I shouldn’t have left you alone like that.” He looks at her with wide, soulful eyes, and Fiona feels ill.

“He’s right, you know,” Fiona utters quietly. “About me. I’m not right for you.”

“Shit, you heard,” Jimmy sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “What do you mean, he’s right? Of course he’s not right. He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she agrees, “But he’s still right.”

“How can you even say that? My father is a pompous dick who hates his own wife and can’t even conceive of a good marriage. He doesn’t get to dictate mine.”

“Of course he does,” Fiona insists. “He’s the king, and he’s your dad. I’m not worth fighting against that.”

“Yes you are!” He cries desperately.

“No,” she says firmly. “Jimmy. I’m not.”

The prince freezes at the name, his jaw slackening. Fiona takes a deep breath and removes her mask.

“It’s you…” Jimmy marvels, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” Fiona shrugs, her lips tipping up in a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Just me.”

“But how…” Jimmy starts, shaking his head, “And you’re…are you - ”

“It doesn’t matter.” Fiona says firmly. “All this stuff, it’s not me. It’s not who I am. I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’m really sorry I led you on like this. But that house, those raggedy clothes? That’s me. Those kids, that’s me. I’m not part of this world. I never will be.”

Jimmy shakes his head, his dazed look fading to determination. “I don’t care. Fiona, I don’t care where you come from. I just want you.”

Fiona closes her eyes at the sound of her real name on his lips. He remembered. She can feel tears prickling behind her eyes, but she pushes them away, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“You don’t know me. You have no idea what my life is like, who I am every day.”

“Then let me learn!” Jimmy insists, rushing forward. “Let me get to know you. I know your life is complicated, Fiona, I get that. But that doesn’t scare me. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but fuck, just let me try! We have to at least try, because, fuck, Fiona, you make me want to enjoy my life again!”

Fiona bites out a bitter chuckle. “See, that right there. You haven’t been enjoying your life? Big fucking deal. You have food, and a roof over your head, and everything you could ever ask for. So things aren’t always a party? Who fucking cares. You’ll never understand what it’s like to live each day not knowing if you’re gonna make it through the next.”

“So let me take you away from that!” Jimmy presses. “Marry me, and you’ll never have to worry about anything like that ever again.”

“What, you think it’s as easy as that?” Fiona scoffs. “I’m a package deal, Jimmy. I won’t go anywhere without my kids, not for anything. You think your dad’s gonna let us all come live in the palace with you? Even if he could ever accept me – and that’s a big fucking if – there’s no way he’d take in my family too.”

Jimmy hesitates, chewing his lip uneasily. “I’d – we’d figure something out.”

“How?” Fiona asks desperately. “You can’t fix this. You’d be a laughingstock – some idiot prince marrying a poor girl, probably bewitched by her tricks. I’d be looked down on, people whispering behind my back everywhere I went. You think I want to live like that? I might be poor trash, but at least I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

Jimmy looks at her helplessly, dismay painted across his features. Finally, he speaks up. “But what about how you feel?”

Fiona sighs. “What about it?”

“Do you want to be with me?” Jimmy asks lowly, his eyes boring into hers.

“It doesn’t matter,” she insists, looking away.

“It _does_ ,” Jimmy pushes, cupping her cheeks with his hands. “Fiona,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers, “do you want to be with me?”

Fiona squeezes her eyes shut, her whole body aching. She breathes Jimmy in, feeling her heart stutter, and wishes with everything that she is that she could just say yes.

“Lady Veronica does,” she admits at last. “But I can’t.”

With that, she reaches up to gently remove Jimmy’s hands from her face. He backs up, looking stricken, and she looks up at him one last time, drinking him in. Then she stands and walks away, away from Jimmy, away from the life she is refusing, away from her heart, beating on the ground at his feet.

~

It’s a few hours before Ian realizes he’s completely lost track of his sister. He and Mandy are tearing their way through a stack of desserts when Ian sees the prince slip back into the ballroom from the gardens. He marches right up to a pretty dark-haired lady, the quality of her gown and the haughtiness of her expression indicating no doubt absurd amounts of family money. He smiles at her, sly and flirtatious, before offering her his hand and leading her towards the dance floor.

Ian feels a flash of righteous indignation on his sister’s behalf. People around him are murmuring at the sight – it’s the first time anyone’s seen the prince dance with anyone but Fiona in ages. Ian glances around for his sister, but she’s nowhere to be found. He looks back to the dancing couple, and the prince is smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Ian hears alarm bells sounding in his head.

“Hey, I’m gonna go check on Fiona,” Ian tells Mandy, trying to stem his sudden anxiety. “Will you be alright for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mandy reassures him.

“Ok. I won’t be long,” Ian promises, squeezing her hand and heading towards the doors. He strides out into the garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sister. She isn’t immediately visible, so Ian keeps going, looping around hedges and circling statues. He’s starting to despair, half-convinced he’s completely off-track, when he hears a faint sniffle. He makes a beeline towards the sound.

He skirts around a high hedge, and there is Fiona, huddled on a stone bench, arms wrapped around herself. She looks up in surprise when she hears him approaching before darting her face away, wiping at her cheeks.

“Fiona,” Ian whispers, stomach churning at her obvious distress. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Fiona insists, smiling at him, but her eyes are watery. “I’m fine. Where’s Mandy?”

Ian ignores her, sitting down next to her and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what happened. Did the prince…”

“He didn’t do anything,” she assures him immediately. “He was perfect. It was me.”

“What?” Ian queries, confused. “I don’t understand. Talk to me, Fi.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Fiona maintains. At Ian’s look, she relents. “Jimmy – the prince – he wanted to marry me. I said no.”

“Oh,” Ian says dumbly. “Oh my god. Ok. But…why? I thought you…”

“Yeah,” Fiona sighs. “It was just impossible.”

“I think if we’ve learned anything these last few days, it’s that nothing’s impossible,” Ian jokes, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Well, this is,” Fiona concludes.

“I’m really sorry, Fi,” Ian murmurs after a moment.

“It is what it is,” Fiona shrugs, smiling ruefully.

“Still.” They sit in silence for another minute, Ian gently rubbing her shoulder. Finally, he speaks up, hating that he’s asking but needing to know. “Do you love him?”

“How could I?” Fiona asks honestly. “I barely know him.” She looks down, eyes fixed on the ground, before continuing. “I think I could’ve, though. If things were…I think I could’ve.”

Ian aches for her, wanting so desperately to ease the pain his sister is in. But there’s nothing he can do. So he just pulls her closer, and she buries her face in his shoulder. He feels wetness seeping into his collar as she sniffles, and he leans his cheek against her hair. They don’t say anything more for a while.

~

When Fiona decides she’s ready some time later, they make their way back inside. Mandy meets them when they reenter the ballroom.

“Everything ok?” She asks, glancing at Fiona.

“Yeah,” Ian assures her. He looks back to see Fiona watching the dance floor. He follows her gaze to find the prince dancing with another maiden, blonde this time, smiling sharply and whispering into her ear.

“Fi…” Ian trails off helplessly.

Fiona shoots him a tight smile that does nothing to cover the sadness in her eyes. “It’s fine, Ian. Really.”

Ian hesitates, but then Fiona’s moving, and he follows her, pulling Mandy along until they find Kev and Vee.

“Hey, where’ve you been?” Vee exclaims, “and why is your boy dancing with some blonde bitch?”

Fiona laughs, but the sound is strained. “He’s just doing what he has to do. Never expected him to be exclusive or anything.”

Veronica looks at her incredulously, but Fiona won’t meet her gaze. Before she can argue, Fiona speaks up again.

“Actually, though, I think I’m gonna head home. You guys alright to leave a little early?” Fiona asks, looking over at Ian and Mandy.

“Yeah, sure,” Ian insists as Mandy nods. He spares a quick glance towards the clock – it reads a quarter past eleven. “It’s pretty late anyway.”

“You sure?” Veronica entreats, concern creeping into her tone.

“Yeah,” Fiona nods. “I’m tired. There’s only so much of this I can take, y’know?”

She tries to smile cheerfully, but Veronica’s clearly not buying it. Still, Vee lets it go for the moment, hugging Fiona briefly before winking at Ian and Mandy. Then the three of them make their way up the stairs. At the top of the steps, Ian turns to take in one last glimpse of the ballroom in all its grandeur. He feels a slight tug of regret, but at the same time, he’s ready to be himself again. He says a silent goodbye, and turns away.

Even the horses seem slower on the way home, dragging their feet as they march back to ordinary life. Ian tries not to hover, but he can’t stop himself from glancing towards Fiona every few minutes to check up on her. Each time he looks, though, she’s resolutely staring out the window. He tries to tamp down on his worry. Fiona has always been so strong. She can handle this.

His siblings wander out when they arrive at the Gallagher cottage,

“Why are you back so early?” Debbie asks suspiciously.

“Got bored,” Ian shrugs. At Debbie’s choked noise, he ruffles her hair, grinning when she swats at him.

“All good?” Lip asks, eyes fixed discerningly on Fiona.

“All good,” Fiona insists.

Ian looks around, but Mickey’s not here yet, surely not expecting that the trio would depart so early. He notes the position of the moon and concludes that it’s not too far off from midnight. It won’t be much of a wait.

The rest of the Gallaghers seem to silently agree, all settling in to wait for Mickey’s appearance. Fiona is unusually quiet, and Lip tries to pick up the slack, sparing his sister from Debbie and Carl’s questions and diverting their attention admirably. Ian and Mandy huddle together off to the side, taking comfort in each other’s company for however long they have left.

After another few moments, Mickey appears, popping into sight unannounced. Ian sees him frown at the view of the carriage already empty in front of the Gallagher house. Mickey swings his head around, brow furrowing at the group assembled on the lawn, but shakes it off.

“So you survived,” Mickey muses, quirking an eyebrow. “No magic mishaps, no catastrophic scenes? I’m impressed.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Mandy huffs, rolling her eyes. “We were fine.”

“Hey, I’m just tryn’a give you a compliment,” Mickey persists innocently, attempting to subdue the grin pulling at his lips. “I didn’t think you three had this much consecutive good behavior in you.”

Mandy sighs in longsuffering, and Ian ducks his head to hide his smile. They remind him so much of his own siblings sometimes, and it feels like home.

Speaking of his siblings, Mickey has finally looked away from his own sister and glanced at Ian’s, who is still suspiciously solemn. He narrows his eyes at her, and Ian can see thoughts racing through his head as he tries to pinpoint the source of her low mood.

“Hey,” he directs to Fiona, tone a bit hushed, only for her. “You have fun?” Ian wonders if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he hears an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice. Like he hopes that Fiona enjoyed herself. Like he cares.

Fiona meets Mickey’s gaze and offers him a small smile. “It was magical.”

Mickey’s eyes flash in amusement, and he nods in acknowledgment. Just then, the carriage begins to creak, twirling and shaking back into a pumpkin. Then the horses are turning back too, and in a moment, all is back to normal. There’s a dull finality to it all, the pumpkin seeming more ordinary than it ever was before. Ian strokes a hand down his doublet and waits for it to transform into his own clothes, fingering the fine material and trying to commit it all to memory.

The magic wears off in stages, the patterns fading first, then the colors, and finally the fabric itself. When Ian is just Ian again, he looks up to watch the last of Fiona’s gown melt back into her simple, worn clothing. She sighs a bit forlornly, meeting Ian’s gaze and sharing a resigned look. She takes a step towards the cottage, but freezes when her foot hits a stone and a clack rings out.

It feels like they all hold their breath as Fiona slowly lifts her skirt to reveal the glass slippers, still snugly situated on her feet. She glances around at the other once-enchanted items, all returned to their previous states, before looking back at her shoes in confusion.

“But…how are they?” She trails off, looking to Mickey in confusion.

Mickey shrugs. “I tried something out. Wasn’t sure it would work, but I think they might stay. I could only do those, though. Sorry.”

“No,” Fiona shakes her head in awe, “this is…they’re wonderful. Thank you,” she says sincerely, and Mickey sniffs and rubs at his lips nonchalantly in a vain attempt to hide his blush.

Ian feels his heart swell in his chest, both from Mickey’s gesture, and for the first real smile he’s seen from Fiona since he found her in the gardens this evening. It’s a small gesture, but he knows that Fiona is glad to keep the shoes, her favourite items from this adventure and a simple, uncomplicated reminder of what she had, even for just three impossible nights.

The air seems to shift then, a heaviness weighing down the space around them as they idle in front of the cottage. There’s an unspoken understanding that it’s time for Mickey to go, and Mandy with him, and yet there’s an unwillingness to see them leave. Even Mickey seems hesitant, chewing on his lip and tugging on his sleeves absently.

In the end, Debbie breaks the silence by unexpectedly throwing her around Mickey. He startles, arms flailing uncertainly before settling to awkwardly pat at her back.

“Thank you for everything,” Debbie says, her chin hooked over his shoulder.  


“Didn’t do anything for you,” Mickey murmurs.

“You did for them, though,” she answers, squeezing him once more before pulling back. “And that means something to me.”

She moves on to Mandy then, hugging her as well while Fiona looks on fondly. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more,” Debbie apologizes when she pulls away from Mandy. “But you’re pretty and you’re great at making dresses, and I’m glad Ian had someone to hang out with at the palace.”

Mandy gapes at Debbie, speechless, but Debbie is unbothered by her lack of response. She just smiles, waves to Mickey once more, and goes into the house.

They all stare after her in shock, but she’s set an example, and after a moment, the rest of the Gallaghers hurry to follow suit. Carl walks up to shake Mickey’s hand confidently.

“Do me a favor and keep those mice alive, alright, man?” Mickey entreats, gesturing to the cage under Carl’s arm.

“I will,” Carl promises, shaking hands with Mandy as well before heading inside. Lip nods once to Mickey, winks at Mandy, and ducks into the doorway. Then it’s just the four of them, the core of this incredible interlude. Ian knows he should leave now, let Fiona have her final goodbye with her fairy godfather or whatever they were calling it these days, but he can’t bring himself to leave until he absolutely has to.

Fiona doesn’t seem to mind, looking at Mickey with a half-smile. “Do we shake hands too?”

Mickey snorts. “Seems a little sentimental, no?”

Fiona inclines her head, and they share another look, this one almost affectionate. Then she turns to Mandy, wrapping the girl in an embrace.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mandy,” she says. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Mandy mutters, holding onto Fiona for just a moment longer than what is standard. Fiona strokes her hair maternally and turns away, shooting Ian a knowing look before disappearing into the house. And then Ian’s alone with Mickey and Mandy.

Mickey hangs back awkwardly, uncomfortable with the numerous displays of affection that he’s been subjected to in the past few minutes. Mandy gazes up at Ian solemnly before launching herself into his arms. Ian clasps her tightly to his chest, burying his face in her hair and trying to swallow down the lump that has risen in his throat.

They stand like that for a suspended moment, and then Mandy’s turning her head to whisper in his ear, “Come visit, okay?”

Ian pulls back just a little to look at her. “Can I? How?” He urges.

Mandy bites her lip uncertainly. “In the woods. There’s a cottage. Take a left at the knotted willow and keep going until you cross the brook. But be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Ian assures. “I’ll find you.”

“Yeah,” Mandy mutters, tone laden with meaning, “that’s what I’m worried about.”

Before Ian has time to ask about her strange warning, she’s leaning up to kiss his cheek and flitting away, disappearing around the corner and out of sight. Mickey watches her go, looking bewildered.

Ian stares at Mickey, feeling the air thicken between them. An electric current seems to run across the space separating them, and he hopes to gods that Mickey feels it too.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Ian admits weakly, stepping forward a little.

“Don’t gotta say anything. Don’t know why you’re all making such a big fuckin’ deal about all this,” Mickey mutters, disgruntled.

“What, can’t take a little affection?” Ian jokes, trying valiantly to ignore his racing heartbeat.

“Is that what this is?” Mickey asks wryly, and Ian chuckles a little. He feels his stomach tighten, and he takes a breath.

“I – I think I’m gonna - ”

“Don’t fuckin’ say you’ll miss me, man,” Mickey grumbles.

“Wasn’t going to,” Ian fires back immediately, even though he totally was. Mickey looks at him knowingly, and Ian shrugs shyly.

“Whatever. Just. Thank you, I guess. For helping Fiona. And for picking me to by Mandy’s escort.”

“You did good,” Mickey says simply. “She was happy with you. So, you know, uh. Thanks. Also.”

Ian can’t stop that smile that tugs at his lips. “It was really nice of you to bring her along. I think it meant a lot to her, getting to be a part of it.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey mutters, scratching his eyebrow uncomfortably. Then he stands up straight, squaring his shoulders. “That’s enough of this fuckin’ thanks parade. I gotta go catch up with her, make sure she doesn’t get eaten by anything in the woods.”

Ian just looks at him silently, drinking in his features. He has to remember every little detail. If this is it, he needs to keep it all.

“Alright, then,” Mickey continues. “Uh. Bye, Gallagher.”

“Bye, Mick,” Ian breathes.

Mickey freezes at the nickname, breath hitching in his chest. Ian savors the taste of the name on his lips, wants to say it again, say it over and over until it’s the only word he remembers.

They stare at each other for an endless second, and Ian’s just about to move forward, to do something, _anything_ , when a thump sounds in the cottage and shatters the moment. Mickey startles, looking over at the cottage as if only just realizing it’s there. Then he glances back at Ian, befuddlement turning to self-consciousness. He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and closes it again. Then he holds up a hand in a half wave and turns, walking away from Ian.

Ian doesn’t breathe again until he’s out of sight, and then all the oxygen in his lungs comes rushing out. He feels hollow, like he left something essential somewhere but isn’t sure what he’s missing. He rubs at his arms, suddenly cold, standing in the night air in just his thin everyday garments.

There’s a faint rushing in his ears, a tide threatening to pull him under, but he grits his teeth and fights the compulsion to succumb. He replays Mandy’s words over and over again. It doesn’t have to be over. He will find them again. He has to.

He looks to the Gallagher cottage, filled to the brim with his siblings, and it suddenly doesn’t feel like his whole world anymore. The realization is unsettling, the first indication that he’s maybe closer to an adult than he is a child. He’s not sure how to feel about that – there’s something sad about the knowledge, but something exciting too. Still, he has a foolish craving to stop time, to be who he was a few days ago, or even this morning, just for a few minutes more. But he can’t. After all, it’s after midnight, and tomorrow has already begun. He takes a deep breath, and goes inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever will happen next? Lots of craziness, honestly. Part Two should be up in a few days. Meanwhile, hit me up on tumblr! I'm at [andcurioser](http://andcurioser.tumblr.com). :)


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the absolutely incredible art by [lollesy](http://lollesy.tumblr.com) [here](http://andcurioser.tumblr.com/post/135459427540/after-midnight-part-two)!

The next morning, Ian wakes up with a dull headache and the grim thought that he would need to sleep another week before he had any hope of feeling alright again. He drags himself out of bed to find his family already up and moving. There seems to be a subconscious need amongst his siblings to keep busy for fear that with no more balls to look forward to, any stillness will allow the doldrums to settle in. Ian feels too sluggish to keep up with the pace of the kitchen, but he notes the dark circles under Fiona’s eyes and shakes off his own sullen mood. Today will be hard for everyone, but hardest for Fiona, and Ian can’t complain. He still has a chance of seeing Mandy and Mickey.

Turns out, though, that the simple task of getting back to normal life is not so simple after all. Ian can’t shake the feeling of pointlessness that suddenly surrounds all his tasks. He doesn’t know what they’re working towards anymore, though he never thought this way before. Getting to the next day was always enough of a goal for him. Now he can’t stop thinking about what might happen the day after that.

Veronica comes over in the afternoon, successfully distracting them all from their private worries. She at least seems to have come out of the festival relatively unscathed, and her easy humor puts the Gallaghers immediately more at ease. She keeps shooting Fiona concerned looks when she thinks no one is paying attention, though. Ian knows Fiona will tell Veronica about last night soon, but she doesn’t seem to want to just yet. He’s not sure if he even knows the rest of the story– he has a feeling there is more history than he’s aware of between Fiona and the prince – but maybe that’s what Fiona needs right now. She might not be ready for any one person to know every part until she’s worked through it all herself.

Still, she can’t seem to help inquiring, aiming for nonchalance when she speaks. “So what ended up happening? Did the prince choose his bride?”

Veronica narrows her eyes at Fiona in study, but shakes her head. “Nah. No future queen on the horizon.”

“But he was getting pretty cozy with some of the ladies last night,” Fiona presses, assiduously avoiding Vee’s eyes.

“That stopped pretty much right after you left,” Veronica informs them. “About ten minutes after you were gone, he just disappeared. Those bitches were not happy.”

“Huh,” Fiona mutters simply, but Ian doesn’t miss the way she exhales, a little of the tension in her shoulders easing.

Veronica’s report doesn’t erase the sadness Fiona carries with her, though, and over the next few days Fiona walks around in a bit of a haze, lost in her own head. Ian watches her as she stands silently in the kitchen, staring down at her hands, and wonders if she would have been better off never attending the festival at all. But then he thinks of never getting to meet Mickey and Mandy, and he knows he’s not selfless enough to wish that away, even for his sister’s sake.

Bit by bit, though, Fiona’s smiles look less strained, and life begins to inch back towards equilibrium. Besides, being a Gallagher has never afforded them much luxury to wallow, and their natural bad luck starts to drown out personal concerns in no time. Ian never thought he’d be grateful for their shoddily built house, but when a small section of the roof collapses six days after the third ball, none of them have a spare second to think about what they might have lost, too busy scrambling to fix the damage.

Before he knows it, three weeks have passed, and talk of the festival is finally starting to die down in the village. The Gallaghers are all getting swept up into the daily current of events again, and when Ian stumbles out into the kitchen one morning and Fiona greets him with an easy, genuine smile, Ian releases a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

Only then does he decide it’s time to visit Mandy. He’s been itching to go every day since the festival, restless to head out into the woods and search for their home. If he’s completely honest, though, he’s scared – not just of the possibility that he won’t be able to find them, but also of the woods themselves. He knows the knotted willow Mandy mentioned, or rather he knows of it. The tree is famous, an ancient, majestic old thing, but it’s deep into the woods, far beyond where most dare to venture.

It’s not like going to Sheila’s, plunging that far into the forest. Despite Fiona’s apprehension, Debbie barely travels 10 minutes beyond the tree line before she arrives at Sheila’s house. But the woods continue, for miles and miles until the trees are so dense they block out the sun. There are all sorts of tales about mystical creatures that live in the remote pockets of the forest – and of the people who go missing when they wander too deep, never to be seen again.

As a boy, Ian was fascinated with the woods, growing up with the edge of the forest always in sight. He and Lip used to play there, delving deeper and deeper as they grew older, constantly hunting for taller trees to climb. One afternoon when Ian was seven, they’d been playing hide and seek, and he’d wandered further than he’d ever gone before in search of the perfect hiding spot. By the time he realized it had been a good hour since he’d had any sign of Lip, he was hopelessly lost. Any attempt to find his way back home just got him more turned around. Hours later, a near-frantic Fiona had found him, huddled and shaking against a gnarled oak tree. From that day on, Fiona had forbidden any of them from going beyond Sheila’s house without a companion.

It’s been years since that incident, and yet Ian’s never been able to entirely shake the childlike fear that lingers when he thinks about the woods. He knows there’s nothing to be afraid of – all those stories were just to scare young children into behaving. But until now, he’s never had any urge to prove them wrong.

Now, though, there’s Mandy, somewhere hidden within the trees, and Mickey too. So when Ian is sure that life at home has stabilized and he can be spared, he packs a bottle of water and some bread into a satchel and quietly slips out the back door.

“Where are you going?”

Ian jumps, turning to find Lip leaning against the back wall of the cottage, eyebrows raised.

“Nowhere. Just to town.”

“Town’s that way,” Lip tilts his head to the right, looking unimpressed.

“Yeah, I was just,” he trails off. As Lip continues to pin him with a flat stare, Ian relents. “I’m going to see Mandy.”

“The fuck you are,” Lip scoffs. “You have no idea where she lives.”

“Yes I do,” Ian insists. “She told me.”

“Did she?” Lip challenges. “Where, then?”

Ian looks down, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “Past the knotted willow. By the brook.”

Lip’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “You serious? You’ll never make it.”

“Why not?” Ian fires back. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can follow some basic directions.”

“You know nothing’s basic in the woods,” Lip warns, and Ian tries not to flinch, knowing he’s right. “Why is it so important that you go, anyway? Mandy’s a great girl, but is it really worth it to get eaten by wolves for someone you only knew for three days?”

“Just because you don’t have any friends, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.” Ian retorts petulantly.

“Hey, fuck off,” Lip chuckles. They stare at each other for a minute, Ian holding firm. Finally, Lip looks away, scuffing at a rock with his shoe. “You really need to do this?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods solemnly. “I do.”

“Fine.” Lip pushes off the wall. “Then I’m going with you.”

“Huh?” Ian starts, genuinely perplexed.

“If you’re so determined to go get yourself lost, I’m going with you. Like hell am I letting you go that far into the woods alone,” Lip says matter-of-factly.

“I won’t get lost,” Ian maintains stubbornly.

“Not if I go with you. Besides, Fi told us we can’t go exploring alone, remember?”

“Lip, that was ages ago,” Ian protests.

“Still your brother, aren’t I?”

Ian thinks about arguing more, but truth be told, the thought of having his big brother with him in the woods is comforting. He shakes off his hesitation and shrugs.

“Ok. Fine. But don’t slow me down. And don’t be a dick when we get there.”

“No promises,” Lip grins, and Ian rolls his eyes before turning towards the woods, Lip following him dutifully.

It’s only midmorning, so the sun shines in beaming rays through the trees on the outer edge of the woods. Ian treads the familiar ground confidently, Lip scurrying to keep up with his longer strides. As they tread further, though, the light begins to dim, trees and bushes crowding closer around them. Their footfalls grow quieter as they continue, until they are near silent, boots sinking gently into the damp ground.

After an hour or so, Ian’s stomach starts to rumble, but he’s reluctant to stop, unsettled by his surroundings and trying to stem his unease with forward momentum. Even Lip has stopped making random quips and observations. They keep pushing forward, their hushed breathing mingling with the unknown creaks and flutters that ring around them.

Ian’s not sure how long they’ve been walking when they come up to a clearing, the dank air around them tinted an almost otherworldly blue. At the edge of the clearing is a massive willow tree, green boughs hanging down towards the leaf-covered ground in a wide arc. The trunk looks like it’s made of several trees that grew and twisted together until they were irrevocably intertwined, bending and reaching up towards the hidden sky.

Ian gasps softly at the sight. It’s a spectacular thing, and Ian instantly understands why it’s fabled. The leaves rustle gently as they hover down, the sound a whisper telling tales of days gone by. The other trees that ring around the clearing tilt towards the willow, as if they yearn to be closer, to hear the stories the willow murmurs to the wind.

“This is it, yeah?” Lip breathes needlessly, and Ian nods.

“Mandy said to take a left here.”

“Just a left?” Lip says incredulously. “She maybe couldn’t have been a bit more specific?”

Ian shrugs. “Left is left.”

They stare at the willow for another moment before veering left, the willow’s leaves brushing Ian’s shoulder as they pass under them. Despite his bold statement, though, Ian doesn’t really know if he’s going in the right direction. It’s impossible to be sure that they’re continuing in a straight line when they have to dodge and weave around all the trees that block their path. They’ve been walking for a long while – it’s futile to try and estimate hours with neither sun nor moon to guide them – when Ian hears the faint sound of rushing water, and exhales in relief.

When they reach the brook, they pause for a drink, the water cool and clean. Ian wades through the stream, rocks shifting beneath his feet, and peers into the distance, hoping against hope that he’ll catch a glimpse of a house. Mandy’s instructions run out once he’s crossed the brook, and if he doesn’t find them nearby, he’s not sure what his next move is.

They press forward, the soft noise of trickling water lingering behind them, and Ian tries to discern if it’s his imagination that’s making the woods look darker than ever. More likely than anything, the sun is beginning to set, leeching away the paltry number of light particles that managed to break through the trees. But Ian can’t help but wonder if the fading light is a feeble metaphor for his mood, darkening with each step he takes without any sign of Mandy’s home.

Ian’s just about to succumb to the highly unbecoming temper tantrum he can feel brewing in his chest when Lip makes a small noise and takes off, jogging ahead of Ian at an angle. Ian follows, heart jumping in his throat when he sees a cottage materialize through the trees. He stares at it for a moment, grateful he found it, fascinated at its existence.

It’s not a large structure, but it’s not exactly a cottage either, not like the Gallagher house. Rather, it looks like the building had been sliced into layers and then reassembled, every level just a few inches off-center. The result is an oddly zigzagged edifice that looks like it could be toppled by the next strong gust of wind. The old wood is so dark it’s almost black, and deep green vines snake up the walls, swallowing the house and integrating it seamlessly into the forest.

“Holy shit,” Lip mutters, and Ian can’t help but agree. He can’t imagine actual people living here, this far from sunlight and the village and the world he knows.

“So do we knock?” Ian asks lamely, looking to his brother for guidance.

“I guess? This is your mission.” Lip shrugs, moving towards the door. It feels like there should be more noise coming from the house, and Ian frets suddenly that no one’s home. He bites back the hysterical laugh that bubbles up, swallowing hard and knocking firmly on the heavy door.

For a moment, nothing happens, the damp wood seeming to absorb the sound of Ian’s fist against it until the woods are silent again. Ian is just about to knock once more when the door groans open, and Mandy is there, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Ian,” Mandy breathes, “you actually came.”

She throws herself into his embrace, her arms constricting almost painfully around him. He hugs her back fiercely, trying to quell the anxiety that spikes in his stomach at the way she’s very slightly shaking.

“Hey, you ok?” He asks when he pulls back.

“Yeah,” she sniffles, “just really happy to see you. But you shouldn’t be here.”

“You told me to come,” Ian retorts, smiling softly.

“I know,” Mandy chuckles wetly, “but how was I supposed to know you’d actually listen? I thought people who kept their promises were a myth.”

“I thought fairy godmothers were a myth,” Ian fires back. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

She grins at him, and he feels something tight dislodge from his chest. Then Mandy glances over his shoulder, frowning a little.

“Why’d you bring Lip?”

“Nice to see you too, Mandy,” Lip utters ruefully. “What, you lure my brother into the deep dark woods and you think I’m gonna let him go alone?”

Mandy shrugs. “I think you’re more likely to get him into trouble than out of it.”

Lip’s mouth quirks up at the corner, eyes twinkling, and Ian steps between them before his brother can escalate this into full-scale flirting.

“Can we come in?” Ian asks, ignoring Lip’s huff of annoyance at the interruption.

Mandy looks back into the house nervously. “Yeah…but I don’t know how long you can stay. My – yeah, ok.”

Ian looks at her quizzically, but she’s already moving into the house, grabbing the teakettle from the fireplace. Ian and Lip tiptoe over the threshold, taking in the strange house. It’s dark, most of the light in the room emanating from the smoldering fire, but there are some candles on a shelf against the side of the room that don’t seem to actually be burning down. The first floor is all one room, but there’s a rickety spiral staircase in the far corner.

“Is anyone else home?” Ian squeaks, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager.

“No, it’s just me,” Mandy replies, and Ian stomps down on the flare of disappointment that shoots through him. It’s not just about Mickey, he tells himself futilely. He’s been curious about her family for weeks.

“Where are your brothers?” He inquires.

“They’re in town,” she answers. “Not yours,” she clarifies at his surprised look. “Two towns over. Marlock. My, um. My dad likes the tavern there. They don’t really put up a fight when he doesn’t pay.”

Ian blinks at her, trying to piece things together, the way she looks down in shame, the way her voice croaks when she mentions her father. A sick feeling starts to simmer in his belly.

“I don’t know where the fuck Mickey is,” Mandy continues, pouring three cups of tea. “He spends a lot of time out in the woods. He’ll show up whenever.”

“You don’t worry about him alone out there?” Ian asks.

“Nah,” she insists, shaking her head. “Mickey can take care of himself. Come on, sit down.”

She gestures towards the large armchair closest to the fire, and settles on a small wooden stool. Ian sits down awkwardly, gripping his mug of tea, while Lip wanders the room, fingering at the odd items strewn about.

They drink in silence for a moment, the atmosphere static and uncomfortable until Ian swallows down the wrong pipe and goes into a coughing fit. Mandy giggles at him as he wheezes, and he sticks his tongue out at her as he catches his breath.

“Smooth,” she teases when his coughing has ceased.

“Damn right. You’ve seen me dance.”

“Yeah, and I still have the bruises,” Mandy fires back, grinning wickedly.

They smile at each other, happy to be back to their old rapport. “Missed you,” Ian confesses, and Mandy blushes.

“Me too,” she replies, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Before they can get too sentimental, a bang sounds, and the door flies open. Mandy looks up in panic, but relaxes once she sees the newcomer. Ian lifts his gaze, heart fluttering in his chest, and there is Mickey, glancing around the room in confusion.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks incredulously.

Ian knows he’s smiling, that he must look like a complete fool, but fuck, it’s _Mickey_.

“Mandy invited us,” Lip pipes up, burying his hands in his pockets.

“Mandy invited _me_ ,” Ian corrects, “you’re just tagging along uninvited.”

Lip shrugs. “Well, we don’t all get free passes to festivals and creepy cottages in the middle of nowhere.”

Mickey snorts, and Lip looks pleased at the reaction. Mickey finally shuts the door behind him, moving to the kitchen to grab an apple. He takes a bite of it and chews slowly, looking right at Mandy.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Mickey says pointedly after he’s swallowed.

“I know,” Mandy winces. “But he is, and dad shouldn’t be back for a while. It’s still early.”

Mickey purses his lips. “If you wanna risk it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then he ambles towards the staircase, not sparing a second glance for Ian or Lip. Ian ignores the frisson of hurt that zings through him.

Mandy seems oblivious to Ian’s distress, and she turns back to him, unbothered by her brother’s terseness. “How’s Fiona?”

“She’s good,” Ian responds, trying to refocus on Mandy. She asks him about Kev and Veronica and the rest of his family members, and soon he’s telling her about the roof and the way Debbie stood on his shoulders so she could stitch together some of the new thatch from beneath. Lip comes to join them to add his own embellishments, and with the sound of Mandy’s laughter ringing around him, Ian can almost forget that he’s still keeping one ear trained on the floors above, listening intently for Mickey’s footsteps.

An hour or so passes by as they all swap stories, and Ian’s feeling more at ease than he has in weeks, back with Mandy, seeing her smile. But the urge to see Mickey again too is like an itch under his skin, and he’s starting to get restless. As the conversation comes to a natural lull, Ian speaks up.

“Hey, can I see the rest of your house?”

“Uh, there’s not much to it,” Mandy says, surprised. “It’s just a couple bedrooms, really, and the attic.”

“This place has an attic?” Lip pitches in. “Is that where this place keeps all its ghosts?”

“Mickey lives there. So, yeah.” Mandy smirks.

Ian seizes on that like a dog with a bone. “Can I check it out?”

“Um, I guess,” Mandy shrugs. “You want me to take you up?”

“Nah, you stay here. I’ll just go take a quick look,” Ian insists, and before she can protest he’s hauling himself up the stairs. The spiral steps lead up through a hole in the ceiling, and as he rises through it, he sees a landing with a closed door. He keeps going, cresting through the ceiling to the next floor, where two doors sit, both ajar. One leads to a relatively clean bedroom with a single bed, while the other is a mess of clothes and broken items, bunk beds with perilously tilting wooden frames shoved against the wall.

He grins at the disarray that hearkens strongly to his own room, and resumes his climb up the stairs. This time, there’s a door blocking his upward progress, the wood panel cutting the staircase off abruptly. Ian considers knocking for a second before foregoing all courtesy and pushing at the door, swinging it open above him.

Ian hoists himself up into the attic, sitting on the floor and dangling his legs down into the stairwell below. The room is dark, lit only by a candle on the small windowsill and another on the bedside table. The roof tapers up into a point, cobwebs hanging from the rafters, and there are a few swaths of fabric pinned against the walls, faded colors hanging like tapestries. The floor is littered with a random collection of things – Ian spots a quiver and bow in the corner – and a narrow bed rests against the wall, Mickey sitting atop it and staring at Ian.

“What are you doing up here?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Wanted to see the attic,” Ian offers weakly, feeling an embarrassed blush rise to his cheeks. Why did he think this was a good idea?

“As you can see, it’s real exciting. Now get the fuck out.”

The thing is, Ian figures he can’t really get any more humiliated than he is already, so he might as well get something out of the ordeal. He ignores Mickey’s directive and rises to his feet, looking around the room curiously.

“So this is where you live?”

“What’s it look like?” Mickey responds irritably.

“Why do you live up here all alone?” Ian queries, stepping forward to glance through the tiny window that looks out onto the front yard of the house.

Mickey shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s easier to stay out of sight up here.”

“Why do you have to stay out of sight?” Ian asks, puzzled.

Mickey purses his lips. When Ian just lets the question hang there, he relents. “My dad doesn’t like me around so much. Best if I stay out of his way.”

Ian’s eyes widen, surprised at both the information and the fact that Mickey shared it.

“Why – ”

“If you ask one more fucking question, Gallagher, I swear to the gods I will cut your fucking tongue out,” Mickey warns. Ian shuts his mouth with a click.

He gives it a second, then tries once more. “Does - ” Ian begins, cutting himself off at Mickey’s significant look and starting again. “Your dad sounds like a dick.”

Mickey barks out a startled laugh. “He is.”

Ian beams at him, and Mickey looks down, rubbing at his lips. Ian continues his slow perusal of the room, trying to connect all the disparate dots into a Mickey-shaped constellation.

His eyes catch on a little stand against the wall opposite the window. A large book rests atop it, the thick leather cover stamped with a filigree design. Two dulled silver slats stretch across the front of the tome, latches dangling unclasped. Ian approaches the book slowly, drawn to its faded magnificence. The closer he gets, the more the air seems to shimmer around it.

“What’s that?” He asks, tone hushed, reaching a hand towards the book.

“Don’t touch it,” Mickey snaps.

Ian snatches his hand away like a naughty child. “What is it, though?”

“None of your concern.” Mickey bites out.

Ian swallows down his arguments, backing away from the book. He eyes Mickey’s bed, wondering what it would be like to sit down there, feel the heat from Mickey’s skin so close to him. He shivers a little, biting his lip at the thought, and looks up to see Mickey watching the movement. A shot of pure heat pulses low in his stomach.

“So what do you do out in the woods all on your own?” Ian croaks, voice unexpectedly husky.

Mickey quirks an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to say anything that isn’t a question?”

Ian just tilts his head, trying to cool his suddenly burning skin.

“I don’t know, stuff,” Mickey continues, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re not much for sharing, are you?” Ian asks with a smile.

“How can I get a word in edgewise with you around?” Mickey shoots back, exasperated.

Ian’s fighting a smile, about to ask yet another question just to see Mickey scowl, when Lip’s voice calls up to him, telling him to come down.

“Gotta go, I guess,” Ian says reluctantly.

“Whatever, man.”

Ian turns towards the steps, preparing to lower himself down, when Mickey’s voice sounds behind him.

“You gonna visit Mandy again?”

Ian feels a grin pulling at his lips, and he’s sure Mickey can hear it rings in his tone when he replies. “Yeah, Mick. I’ll come back.”

Mickey shrugs noncommittally, casually picking at his bedspread and looking towards the window. He’s the cutest fucking thing Ian’s ever seen.

It’s harder to tear himself away from Mickey than he’d like to consider, but he manages, clambering down the stairs and back to where Lip is waiting for him, tapping his toe impatiently.

“The ghosts eat you up there or something? It’s time to go home.”

Ian brushes past his brother to embrace Mandy. “Can we come back?” He mutters into her hair.

“Yeah,” Mandy answers. “Just. Try to come in the afternoons. Dad’s usually gone by then.”

“Ok,” Ian promises, and then he’s following Lip out the door. He glances back to look up at the little window in the attic, imagining Mickey on his bed, deft fingers fiddling with his bedcovers. The mental image is intense and delectable, and Ian shakes his head a little to clear it. They have a long journey home, and he can’t afford to be distracted with thoughts like that this deep in the woods.

The trek back seems to go by in half the time, Ian’s footsteps more sure, his heart lighter now that his mission has been successful. They breach the edge of the forest just as the sun is setting, and they make their way across the open field between the tree line and the Gallagher house. They pause at the well, and Lip pours them both some water.

“You feel better now?” Lip muses, sipping at his cup and looking out towards the woods. “You get your hero complex out of your system, finding the princess in the creepy fucking tower?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Like you weren’t flirting with Mandy the whole time.”

“Not the whole time,” Lip grins. “Place is creepy, though,” he continues. “How do they live all the way out there?”

“It’s their house, I guess. It’s what they know.”

“I’d find a new house,” Lip retorts. “They did have some wild stuff. Wonder what they even use it all for.”

Alarm starts to tingle up Ian’s spine. “What did you do?”

Lip shrugs. “I may have borrowed a few items. Figured some of them might be magic.”

Ian stares, aghast. “Lip. You _stole_ from them?”

Lip appears unmoved. “Stole, borrowed, liberated. What’s the difference? They’ll never even notice anything’s missing.”

“You can’t know that! Lip, you could get them in trouble. Their – ”

“Relax, Ian,” Lip reassures. “They’re just a few small things, nothing expensive or fancy. I don’t think they even have anything valuable in that entire house.”

Ian shakes his head at his brother, agog. “Give them back.”

“No,” Lip snorts. “I’m telling you, I didn’t take anything they’ll miss.”

“Show me,” Ian demands. Lip rolls his eyes dramatically, but reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a handful of small items – a compass, a small purple orb, the nub of a candle, and a handful of beans.

“What the fuck,” Ian mutters. “Why would you even take these?”

Lip shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t know. I saw them, I took them. I was curious.”

“We still have to take them back,” Ian insists, determined.

“Are you serious?” Lip asks incredulously. “This stuff is worthless. Let it go, Ian.”

“No,” Ian bites out. “We’re taking them back, now. Come on.”

“Fuck no,” Lip scoffs. “I’m not trekking all the way out there just to give back trash they’ll never realize is gone. Let’s just go inside.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Ian sighs. “Give them here.”

“I’m not letting you go back out there for that. Leave it alone.”

“Lip,” Ian grits out, anger rushing through him. He lunges for his brother, trying to take the items by force if necessary. Lip twists away from him, and Ian reaches for his wrist. They grapple, Lip trying to break the hold Ian has on his arm and Ian struggling to pry the items away from his brother. Lip stomps hard on Ian’s foot, and Ian falls back with a grunt. Lip seizes on his momentary distraction, launching his handful of stolen knickknacks in a high arc towards the field beyond the cottage. Ian watches helplessly as the small objects scatter in the air, raining down and disappearing into the grass.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Ian fumes, rounding on Lip.

“Saving you from yourself, little brother,” Lip insists. “Now let’s go inside.”

“You are such an asshole,” Ian seethes.

“You’ll thank me when you’re older,” Lip shrugs, shooting him a smug half-grin.

Ian rakes his hands through his hair, trying to stem his rage. He bumps Lip’s shoulder roughly as he pushes past him to the back door of the cottage. He tries to slam the door behind him, but Lip catches it before it swings shut.

Ian refuses to meet Lip’s eyes throughout dinner, and he can still feel a simmering ire as he gets in bed. Lip keeps glancing at him from his bed across the room, and Ian rolls over, turning his back to his brother. He closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind of his frustration. He conjures up images of Mandy, so thrilled to see him. Then of Mickey, the sound of his startled laughter, the look in his eyes as he stared at Ian’s lips. He falls asleep too soon.

~

He startles awake to hands shaking him. He grumbles, trying to brush them off, but they persist.

“Ian,” Lip’s voice urges above him, “Ian, come on. You have to see this.”

“What?” Ian groans, eyes blinking blearily.

“Trust me, man. Get up.”

Ian pulls himself into a sitting position, noting that the sun is barely up. Ian glares at Lip, but his brother seems breathlessly excited, and Ian’s curiosity gets the better of his grogginess. He stands and follows his brother, who keeps checking over his shoulder eagerly like a dog hoping to go for a walk.

Lip leads Ian out the back door of the still-sleeping cottage, and Ian only makes it a few feet outside before he sees the cause of his brother’s animation. His jaw drops.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he whispers.

In the once-open field behind the Gallagher cottage, a massive beanstalk now stretches high into the sky, disappearing into the clouds above. The beanstalk seems to be made of several stems that meet and twist together to form a sturdy shaft, leaves and vines poking out between the spaces. Ian cranes his neck as his eyes travel up and up, but he can’t see far enough to know where – or even if – the beanstalk ends.

“How did this…” Ian trails off in wonder.

“I don’t know,” Lip says, voice thrumming with energy. “But it’s fucking incredible.”

Ian just nods, still staring up at the stalk towering over them.

“Let’s go up it,” Lip proposes eagerly.

That snaps Ian out of his stupor. “What?!”

“Let’s climb it,” Lip presses.

“Why?”

“To see what’s up there?” Lip shrugs. “Or just to see the view.”

“It could be dangerous,” Ian protests weakly.

“When has that ever stopped us before?” Lip grins. “Come on, brother. You have to admit, that is one tall fucking tree.”

Despite reason, Ian can’t deny that the thought of climbing the beanstalk and seeing the entire kingdom from on high invigorates him. They’ve spent their lives trying to find taller and taller trees to climb, and they’re not likely to find anything taller than this.

Ian doesn’t realize he’s nodding until Lip is slapping his shoulder affectionately and moving back towards the house. They get dressed quickly, creeping around to avoid waking their siblings. With any luck, they’ll be down and back again before Fiona has time to panic about the huge magical plant looming over their house.

They approach the base of the beanstalk, and Lip circles around it to study it. Ian presses his hand to the bright green surface of the stem, feeling it yield gently beneath him.

Lip has come back around to stand beside Ian. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods.

“Don’t fall,” Lip grins, and then they’re grabbing onto the stalk and pulling themselves up.

They climb silently for a few minutes, getting familiar with the different feel of the beanstalk. Ian is used to the rougher surface of trees, accustomed to the bark scraping at his fingertips, and the beanstalk is so soft it’s almost slippery. But there are countless handholds and vines to grasp onto, and they make quick progress. When they’ve been climbing a while, Ian looks down and inhales sharply. He hadn’t realized how high they’d traveled, and the Gallagher cottage is already a tiny dot at their feet. His head spins for a second, but it’s exciting too. It’s like flying but still having a foot planted firmly on the ground.

They keep climbing, and Ian doesn’t know at what point they’ll stop, only that he’s not ready to give up this feeling yet. He focuses on the pleasant burn of his working muscles, inhaling deep lungfuls of crisp, cool air.

Lip’s surprised cry breaks Ian out of his trance. “The fuck is that?” Lip marvels, and Ian looks at his brother before following his gaze, up and up and up.

For a minute, all he sees are clouds, curling and fluttering around the beanstalk. Then a gap appears in the white layer, and Ian gasps.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “Is that - ”

“A fucking floating island,” Lip finishes eagerly. “Yeah.”

“How is that possible?” Ian wonders, head reeling. “How did we never know it was there?”

“Magic, brother,” Lip responds. “I’m beginning to realize that the answer to most things we don’t understand is magic.”

Then Lip’s climbing again, and Ian follows, muscles straining from the effort.

They approach the base of the island quickly, staring up at the underside of the floating mass. Roots dangle into thin air, but when Ian brushes his hand against the dirt, it feels just like it does on the ground miles below.

They reach the edge of the land, clambering from the stalk and sprawling upon the grass. It feels like lying in the field behind the cottage, except when Ian looks up at the sky from his position on his back, it’s all so much closer now. They’re _in_ the sky.

They lie there for a moment, catching their breath. Then Lip sits up, pulling at a blade of grass and bringing it up to his eyes to inspect it. Ian sits up too, examining his surroundings. They’re perched in a patch of greenery at the very edge of the island, but the land stretches beyond them, trees springing up and making it impossible to see just how far the island extends. Ian studies the forest until his eye catches on something.

“Lip, look,” Ian nudges, pointing at a spot in the distance, where a huge stone castle rests, just visible above the trees.

Lip gasps softly before his mouth breaks out into a wide grin. He meets Ian’s enthusiastic gaze, and then they’re hopping to their feet, heading off in the direction of the castle without a word.

The forest up here isn’t nearly as dense as the woods below, and Ian and Lip dart through the trees easily. Still, it takes them some time to reach the castle, and when they do, they take another few minutes to gape at the structure.

The castle isn’t just huge. It’s _massive_. The front door alone is at least five times Ian’s height, and the chains that attach the lowered drawbridge to the castle wall are so thick that Ian’s unsure if he would even be able to wrap his arms around them completely. The stone edifice is so tall it blocks out the light of the sun, casting long shadows far into the forest.

“Is this,” Ian begins, but has to pause to clear his suddenly scratchy throat. “What is this place?”

Lip is staring at the castle with wide eyes, his body practically vibrating with energy. “ _Ian_ ,” he whispers gleefully, “I think they’re giants.”

Ian shakes his head silently, unable to comprehend what he knows must be true. It would be impossible for mere humans to build a structure of this size, and Ian knows Lip’s right even as his mind rejects the notion. It can’t be. But he stares at the castle wall, each stone roughly the size of a boulder, and realizes all over again that the world is so much bigger than he ever knew. This time, literally.

When Ian turns back to Lip, his brother is narrowing his eyes in concentration, doing some sort of calculation in his head. Finally, he inclines his chin towards the castle. “There.”

Ian follows the line and sees that Lip is staring at one of the large windows about 30 feet up. Ian studies it for a moment before spotting what Lip has noticed: there’s a hole in the bottom left corner of the square glass, probably nothing to a giant, but more than large enough for a human to fit through.

“You want to go in?” Ian asks nervously.

“Of course I do,” Lip scoffs. “Don’t you?”

He does, really, but a long history of being the voice of reason in his brother’s escapades is making it impossible for Ian to ignore the niggling doubt at the back of his mind. He wants very badly to explore this place, but he can sense the danger that lies within these walls. In the end, though, he can’t pass up the opportunity. He nods his head, and Lip grins.

“Let’s go, then.” Lip approaches the castle wall below the window and feels around, looking for purchase. He digs his hands into a groove between the stones and hoists himself up. Ian follows suit, patting the wall until he finds something to grasp onto. They scale the wall quickly, only the rustle of their clothes and their slight grunts of effort breaking the quiet that seems to echo up here in the sky.

They reach the edge of the window and sit against the ledge for a minute. The glass of the window is thick and dimpled with age, and Ian can’t make out much of what lies inside. They scoot towards the break in the glass, ducking under and into the castle.

They find themselves at the edge of a great hall that puts the royal palace to shame, so large Ian can barely make out the other end of the room. The chamber is sparsely decorated, and what little is there looks to be in various levels of decay. Ian spots a broken statue, crumbling bits of marble lying scattered at its feet, and an ancient-looking chandelier, the rusted bronze askew and only a few candles still in place, wide as tree trunks, wax dripping down like stalactites.

Lip huffs out a breath, and then he and Ian start to lower themselves down the interior wall. This surface is smoother than the outside, and Ian grips onto the wall tightly as they carefully make their way down to the floor below. When they finally touch down, Ian flexes his fingers, trying to loosen his tired joints.

“Do you think anyone’s here?” Ian asks, voice hushed.

Lip shrugs. “Dunno. Nobody’s cleaning this place, that’s for sure.”

They set off across the hall, footsteps barely making a sound in the grandeur of the vast chamber. When they’re about halfway through the space, Lip pauses, gesturing to an open archway that leads out of the left side of the room.

“Let’s go that way.”

Ian follows mutely, utterly without an agenda as they wander through this place. The archway leads to an antechamber with three open doorways along the far wall. The middle one, the largest of the three, stretches down into a long hallway, but Lip veers left again, going through the adjacent door.

They enter into a kitchen, huge copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Ian stares at the bags of grain against the wall, each sack bigger than the Gallagher cottage. The contents of this kitchen could feed his entire family for a lifetime.

He turns to the wall beside the door and takes in the fireplace, a colossal pewter kettle hanging over the fire. The lit fire.

“Lip,” Ian murmurs, “Somebody’s home.”

Lip turns in the direction of the fire, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh shit.”

“Should we go?” Ian asks uncertainly, suddenly nervous.

“No way,” Lip insists. “We’ll just be careful.”

Ian isn’t sure Lip knows what careful means, but he follows his brother out anyway, back out into the antechamber and through the center door.

They stroll in and out of various rooms, pausing to admire the wondrous items that they encounter. Everything in the castle feels very ancient, like relics of another time when giants ruled the land. Ian thinks he might be making up stories, or maybe he’s just remembering tales from his childhood. Either way, there’s a majesty to the place, even as dilapidated as it is.

They’ve been walking for a while when Lip leads them into a large chamber, and Ian feels his eyes widen owlishly in amazement. The floor of the room is littered with treasure. Hills of gold and silver gleam in the dim light, and Ian spots towers of goblets, jewels, gemstones, even a few glistening swords and shields. He stares agape at the wealth that surrounds him.

Lip curses quietly beside him, and then they’re rushing towards the nearest mound, coins clinking as they run their hands through the piles. Lip starts to stuff gold into his pockets, and Ian only hesitates for a second before doing so too, resolutely ignoring the moral implications and focusing only on what this could do for his family. Just a tiny portion of the contents of this chamber could set them up for life.

Lip finds a small velvet bag, and they proceed to empty their spoils into it, hands shaking with excitement. Lip heads towards the next mountain of treasure, attention caught by something, and Ian arrives just in time to see him stroke a hand over the golden column of an ornate harp. The second his hand touches the surface, the harp springs to life, strings playing themselves in a wistful melody. Ian gasps, feeling the music surround him like silk, bouncing around the walls of the chamber. Lip turns to him, smiling beatifically.

And that’s when the giant walks in.

There’s an almost comical moment when the two humans and the giant in the doorway stare at each other, mouths open in shock. Then the giant’s features twist into rage and he lets out a feral roar. Lip and Ian are running before they’ve even registered their legs moving, darting between the giant’s feet and sprinting down the hallway.

Ian can’t remember which way they took to the treasure chamber, their route too aimless and circuitous, but thankfully Lip seems to have a sense of where they are, tearing down the corridor with purpose. They flit through several rooms before they break out into the cavernous entrance hall, the giant’s heavy footfalls booming behind them.

They scramble up the wall, stone scraping against their skin, and then they’re bursting out into the cool air, skittering down again and propelling themselves off the wall the moment they’re within jumping distance of the ground.

They bolt across the drawbridge and towards the forest, and have just breached the tree line when the door of the castle smashes open, the giant howling when he catches sight of them.

“Fuck,” Lip exclaims, panicked, “He’s following us. _Fuck_.”

They push harder, legs pumping frantically as they weave through the trees. The ground shudders with every step the giant takes, and Ian can hear trees toppling down behind them as the giant gets closer.

They reach the top of the beanstalk and nearly leap off the edge of the island, breaths coming in painful gasps. They scurry down the beanstalk carelessly, and Ian loses his grip more than a few times in his haste, hands darting out shakily to grasp vines before he can fall to his death. They’re about halfway down when the beanstalk lurches, and Ian looks up in alarm to see that the giant has just hoisted himself onto the stem and is starting to climb down after them.

“Fuck!” Lip shouts, and then they’re nearly sliding down the beanstalk, hoping desperately that gravity will speed their descent. The Gallagher cottage gets larger and larger as they near the ground, and the second their feet touch the field they’re running again.

“What do we do?” Ian asks hysterically, boots pounding against the grass.

“The axe,” Lip pants, “Where’s the axe?”

Ian takes off ahead, nearly slamming against the wall of the cottage and roughly grabbing the axe that leans against it, feet narrowly avoiding the pile of firewood beside it. Lip seizes a spade lying on the ground, and they sprint back to the base of the beanstalk, the giant looming ever closer.

Ian swings hard at the stem, the blade of the axe biting into its flesh. He wrenches the axe out and swings again, and then again, the muscles of his arms screaming from the force of each impact. Lip has rounded to the other side of the base, hacking at the stalk with the pointed tip of the spade. Ian wills himself not to look up as he chops away at the plant, pouring all his energy into the motion of his swing.

The giant has just let out another bellow of rage when the beanstalk finally starts to teeter, a deep groan echoing up from the earth. Lip darts out of the way, and they hurriedly back up as the beanstalk tilts, then starts to fall, gaining momentum until it crashes to the ground, the world shuddering around them as it settles.

As the tremors fade, Ian peers through the cloud of dust that sprang up at the impact. The beanstalk has fallen at an angle, stretching across the open field and into the forest. And there at the edge of the woods is the giant’s prone body, a swath of trees crushed under his weight. Ian watches for a moment, holding his breath, but the giant doesn’t stir. Ian exhales with relief.

“Holy shit,” Lip murmurs, raking his hands through his hair, voice rising as the terror of their ordeal catches up with him. “Holy shit!”

Ian stands still, shaking with the adrenaline still coursing through his system. His brain uselessly supplies obvious information, repeating it until it sinks in. The giant is dead, and he and Lip are not. Somehow, they’ve survived.

Ian hears movement behind him, and he turns to find Fiona rushing towards them, his siblings following behind. She wraps Ian in her arms the second she reaches them, her grip tight around him.

“Are you ok?” She asks, voice shrill with worry. “Gods, what the hell is going on? Are you alright?”

“We’re fine,” Ian rasps, burying his face in Fiona’s shoulder. “We’re ok.”

Fiona squeezes him once more before moving on to a dazed Lip. When she pulls away, she smacks Lip upside the head.

“What the fuck were you thinking? How did this happen? Fuck, you could have been killed! We _all_ could have been killed!”

Lip swallows, his throat bobbing visibly. “I – I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re sorry,” Fiona fumes before hugging Lip again.

Ian turns to his siblings, who are staring at the felled beanstalk in fearful awe. He embraces Debbie and Carl before rubbing Liam’s head gently.

“You guys ok?”

“Yeah,” Debbie nods.

“You kill him?” Carl asks, jutting his chin towards the still giant.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Ian shrugs, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt that spikes in his chest.

Carl just chews his lip and keeps staring. Fiona starts to herd them all back to the cottage, placing a protective hand on Ian’s shoulder. It’s only a matter of time before people flock to the house to find out what happened. The impact must have been felt for miles.

Ian leans the axe back against the wall of the cottage, and he’s just straightening up when Mickey flashes into sight a few feet away, face livid.

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” Mickey fumes, nostrils flaring in rage.

Ian quells in the face of his fury, and even Lip has the good grace to look a little guilty. Fiona glances between them warily.

“Go inside,” she mumbles to his siblings, ushering the kids through the backdoor and shooting the trio an uneasy look before she shuts the door behind her. Ian suddenly craves her presence, wanting to hide behind her like a child. But this is his mess to deal with, his and Lip’s, and he needs to face the consequences.

“I’m fucking waiting,” Mickey grits. “One of you wanna tell me what happened? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure a giant fucking beanstalk didn’t just spring up in your backyard overnight because Fiona’s got a green thumb.”

The brothers continue to shuffle their feet uncomfortably, saying nothing.

“Well?” Mickey snaps, and finally Lip steps forward a little.

“I, um,” he mumbles, “I might have taken a few things from your house.”

“You don’t say,” Mickey intones flatly. His eyes flash dangerously, his ire cresting again. “How fucking dare you. Who the fuck do you think you are? You have no idea what you’re doing, messing around with stuff like this.”

Ian fixes his eyes on the ground, hot shame flooding through him.

“What was your plan, huh? You thought you could just fool around up there without a care in the world and nothing would follow you? You’re not the only people in the universe. You can’t just do whatever you want and think no one’s gonna get hurt.”

“We don’t think that,” Lip insists quietly. “We didn’t plan this. We didn’t know what was gonna happen, and we just – I don’t know, wanted to see…”

“But you didn’t just look, did you?” Mickey fires back. “You fucked around where you didn’t belong, and now we’ve got a dead giant on our hands and hell to pay. What were you gonna do about that?”

“I don’t know,” Lip admits miserably.

“Yeah, you didn’t fucking think, did you? You’re so fucking lucky I’m here to clean up your mess, and I shouldn’t even do that. I should leave you to it and let you figure it out for yourselves when people come asking questions.”

Ian’s head shoots up, shocked that Mickey would even consider helping them after what they did. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over him, threatening to bring him to his knees.

Lip is staring at Mickey, wide-eyed, and Mickey clenches his jaw.

“I’ll do this for you fucking _once_ , and only because I don’t want more idiots like you knocking down my fucking door for magic beans they don’t understand and putting the whole damn kingdom at risk. That’s it. And don’t you _ever_ come to my house again. We’re done.”

Ian’s heart squeezes painfully, but Mickey’s already turning, marching towards the beanstalk. Lip and Ian follow him meekly, shoulders stooped.

Mickey pauses at the fallen beanstalk, glancing briefly over to where the giant lies. He places both hands flat against the stem, taking a deep breath and expelling it slowly. A purple glow starts to emanate from his palms, crackling down the stalk, and the whole thing shudders for a second before abruptly disappearing with a soft whoosh.

Ian gapes at the empty space where the huge beanstalk had been only a moment ago. He glances towards the woods, and though the bundle of trees still lies crushed into the ground, the giant’s body is gone too. Ian exhales, relieved.

Mickey is standing in the same spot, eyes closed in exhaustion. His skin looks pale, mouth drawn into a tight line, and for a moment Ian thinks he’s going to fall over. Before Ian can rush to support him, though, Mickey opens his eyes tiredly, straightening up. He fixes Lip with a sharp stare, ignoring Ian completely.

“That’s all you’re ever getting from me,” Mickey grits out, shaking his head in disgust. “Have a nice fucking life.”

And then he’s gone, vanished like the beanstalk, and Ian and Lip are left alone in the field. Ian feels tears prick behind his eyes, Mickey’s look of contempt all he can see. He feels ill, and he silently turns back towards the house, filled with the desperate urge to hide underneath his covers and never come out again.

Fiona glances at them worriedly when they reenter the cottage, but Ian avoids her eyes. She doesn’t ask them what Mickey said, or even anything else about what happened today, and for that Ian is unspeakably grateful. His siblings take Fiona’s lead, tiptoeing around their sullen brothers and starting up loud, stilted conversations about nothing.

By dinnertime, Lip is starting to regain his spirits, quietly teasing Debbie and working with Liam on his reading. Ian still feels too wretched to engage much with his siblings, though, and he slips into the boys’ bedroom at the earliest opportunity, eager to be away from their concerned looks. As he settles in bed, curling up and trying to get as small as possible, he tells himself that he should respect Mickey’s wishes and leave him alone. But the thought of today being his final interaction with Mickey, that expression of pure disdain the last look Mickey will ever give him, brings on a wave of pain so strong he has to grit his teeth to keep from crying. He doesn’t know how to fix this, or even if he can. But as the stress of the day catches up with him and pulls him into a restless sleep, he knows that he will do whatever it takes to get Mickey to smile at him just one more time.

~

The next morning, Ian rises early, tired of his bed after a long night of tossing and turning. He rubs at his eyes blearily as he creeps out of the boys’ room, exhausted and forlorn. He finds Fiona alone in the kitchen, sipping her customary cup of early morning tea.

“Hey there,” Fiona says softly. “How’re you feeling?”

Ian shrugs, pouring himself a mug. He sits at the table, but doesn’t drink, staring down at the steam curling lazily up towards him.

“You wanna talk about what happened?” Fiona asks gently.

“Not really,” Ian admits, wrapping his hands around his mug to warm them.

Fiona nods, accepting his reticence easily. They sit in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Ian contemplates telling Fiona about the day before, and the day before that, all the things he’d done and seen and wanted. But confessing these feelings he’s been having might make them real, and he doesn’t know if he can risk that, not when Mickey seemed so determined yesterday to never see him again. Fiona is already dealing with her own broken heart. Ian doesn’t want to burden her with his as well.

He thinks she might know anyway, though, by the way she keeps glancing at him over the rim of her mug, eyes sad and understanding. Ian swallows hard, trying to keep at bay the tears that have been threatening since yesterday.

He hears movement in the boys’ room, and he straightens up. It’s still early, the cottage shadowy in the dim morning light, and Ian’s surprised to see Lip shuffling out and into the kitchen. He’s even more surprised when Lip drops something onto the table with a muffled clink.

“What’s that?” Fiona asks curiously.

Ian knows, though. He recognizes the burgundy velvet, the dull gold rope cord tied around the top. He strains to remember how Lip could have stashed it as they ran from the giant, somehow holding onto it even through their mad flight. But of course Lip could do it. Of fucking course. He feels a flickering of anger even as Fiona pulls the bag towards her and opens it, her eyes widening in awe at the sight of the gold he knows is inside.

“How did you…” Fiona trails off, staring at the glittering coins in shock.

Lip gestures vaguely up towards the roof and the sky beyond. “It’s all we could grab before, you know. Sorry there isn’t more.”

Fiona just shakes her head, picking up a gold piece and gliding her fingers along the edges.

Ian looks up at his brother, who’s running a hand through his disheveled hair and looking cautiously pleased with himself.

“We can’t keep this,” Ian says quietly, eyes locked on Lip’s face.

“What?” Lip turns to him, confused. “Of course we can.”

“No,” Ian insists firmly. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not ours, Lip. We shouldn’t have taken it. We shouldn’t have even been up there. We have to give it back.”

“To who?” Lip cries, exasperated. “The giant’s dead. The beanstalk’s gone. We can’t get back up there. What are we supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t know!” Ian huffs. “Give it to the poor?”

“We are the poor!”

Ian pushes out a breath through his nose, trying to calm his rage. He knows what Lip is saying makes sense, knows they need the money. But he can’t stop thinking about Mickey’s face the day before, and imagining how much more disgusted he would look if he knew that Ian and Lip had taken all this for themselves.

Lip is looking at Ian expectantly. Ian sighs and turns to Fiona.

“What do you think?”

Fiona bites her lip. “We could really use it,” she begins hesitantly.

Ian closes his eyes in resignation. “Fine. Just – fine.”

He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor roughly. He ducks out the back door before he can see Lip’s triumphant expression, leaning against the cottage wall once he’s out of sight. He takes a few deep gulps of air, trying to think about anything but the giant they killed and the gold they took as spoils.

He stays out there for a while, watching as the sun rises higher in the sky, spilling light onto the field and towards the cottage. He hears his siblings moving around the kitchen as the morning routine commences, but he remains where he is, flinching every time someone inches too close to the backdoor lest it’s someone coming to check on him. No one does, though, and he’s left to sulk in peace.

Eventually, the house quiets, his siblings heading out to their various tasks for the day. He guesses it must be around noon when he finally heads inside. Carl and Liam are in the corner, and he waves at them feebly as he strides into the boys’ room. He’s packing his satchel before he even realizes what he’s doing, throwing in his worn leather jacket and tucking his small knife into its scabbard. He grabs some water and a crust of bread from the kitchen, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m going out for a bit,” he tells Carl, who’s watching him curiously. “Will you be alright here on your own for a while?”

“Sure,” Carl nods. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He dashes over, kissing Liam’s head and ruffling Carl’s hair, smiling when Carl swats at him. Ian tries very hard not to look at the table on his way out, where the bag of gold no longer rests.

His feet are marching confidently towards the tree line before his mind has caught up, but he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know where he’s going. In all the jumble in his mind, the only clear thought is that he has to see Mickey, has to confess, explain, do anything. Just see him again.

As he strikes out into the woods, he ignores the voice in his head telling him it’s a bad idea to go alone. He knows the way this time, and besides, he doesn’t want company. He moves quickly, steps sure as he skirts around trees, the woods darkening around him as he gets deeper.

He passes the knotted willow, crosses the brook, and then he’s approaching the staggered house, barely visible in the dimness. The air seems thick around the cottage, and Ian’s footsteps are nearly silent as he strides up the path towards the front door. He raps on the wood, rubbing at his arms, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that’s been creeping upon him for the last hour.

After a moment, the door swings open, Mandy at the other side of it. She blanches at the sight of him, staring for a moment before pushing at him and hastily pulling the door closed behind her.

“What are you doing here?” She whispers, leaning into him.

“I came to see you. And, um, is Mickey - ”

“My dad’s still here,” Mandy continues, ignoring him. “He’s upstairs, but he’ll be coming down soon. You can’t be here.”

“Uh, ok,” Ian stutters, suddenly unsure of himself. “Do you want me to – ”

“ _Ian_ ,” Mandy interrupts again, her eyes darting back towards the house in paranoia. “You need to go. Now.”

“Alright,” Ian agrees, her anxiety seeping into him and making him edgy. “But is Mickey here?”

“No,” Mandy mutters distractedly.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, somewhere,” Mandy huffs. “Just go, ok? Before my dad sees you.”

She starts to return to the house, but abruptly turns back to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Then she’s ducking back inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Ian stands on the front path for a moment, but he feels nervous somehow, this close to the house. He felt welcome two days ago, but something about the cottage now feels ominous, like a hostile presence is lurking inside. He thinks of Mandy’s panicked expression when she mentioned her father, and is torn between bursting inside to defend her and running far away. But Mandy wanted him to leave, and he knows that he’d only make things worse by forcing a confrontation. After another moment of indecision, he turns to go.

He doesn’t go home, though. His conversation – if that’s what he would call whatever just happened there – with Mandy threw him for a loop, but as he treads away from the cottage, the urge to see Mickey returns in full force, shimmering under his skin. He has no clue where to go, though. The woods feel more dense and labyrinthine than ever, and he’s suddenly keenly aware that he’s alone in an area he doesn’t know at all, far from anyone who would know where to find him, or even know to come looking. He tries to ignore how many stories he’s heard that start just like this. Tries very hard not to think about how those stories ended.

In the end, he picks a random direction and just starts walking, trying to keep track of markers along the journey so he can find his way back. But all the trees start to look the same, tall and looming in the murky light, and Ian’s pace starts to flag as realization dawns on him that his search might be hopeless. The woods go on for miles and miles, and he has no way of knowing where Mickey might be. Much as he’d like to believe in some romantic notion of his heart leading him in the right direction, more likely than anything, he’s just lost, searching for a boy who doesn’t want to be found at all, and certainly not by him.

Ian’s just about to turn back when he hears a rustling in the trees beyond the clearing he has just crossed into. Ian freezes, ears straining to pick up the sounds, hoping against hope that it’s just a bird or a fox. He holds his breath, still in the silence of the woods for a hushed instant. Then the rustle sounds again.

He looks on in dread as the trees begin to shudder, branches bending and snapping as something approaches. His feet feel rooted to the ground, fear tingling across the back of his neck, and then a creature emerges into the clearing.

He’s not quite sure what to call it – he’s never seen anything like it, not even in storybooks. But it’s monstrous, a swirling mess of spines and ridges, deep purple scales and reaching, grasping claws.

Ian scrambles to catalogue each threat, but the creature seems to be made of dangers, every surface spiked or pointed. He thinks he spots blood gleaming on one of the monster’s long arms, and he feels ill.

The thought of fleeing buzzes noisily in his head, but one look at the creature’s six legs is enough for Ian to know that he could never outrun the thing. He stays stock still in the vain hope that the it will ignore him so long as he doesn’t pose any challenge. But the creature starts to move towards him, scabrous limbs slithering and thumping forward, and Ian curses, scrambling for the knife in his satchel.

The creature begins to pick up speed, lumbering towards him. Ian feels panic racing up his spine, his hands shaking as he grasps blindly for his blade. The monster is just a few yards away from him now, huge maw stretching open to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. Ian gasps in a shuddering breath, trying to prepare himself for the impact, thinking of Fiona and Lip and his family and how they will never know where or how he died.

“Duck!”

The call sounds behind him, and Ian doesn’t think, just throws himself to the ground, wrapping his arms around his head instinctually. There’s a whoosh above him, and he feels a jet of air rush past him. Then a grinding shriek echoes around the clearing, and Ian peeks through his fingers to see the creature stumbling, arms flailing, a single arrow piercing it right between its glaring eyes.

Another quaking roar erupts from the creature’s mouth, and then it’s dragging itself across the ground, away from Ian, struggling to move its quivering limbs. A wheezing sound rushes out of it, and suddenly sickly pink smoke is curving and weaving around the creature, obscuring its form and closing in on it, imploding until it dwindles to nothing.

Ian stares, half-curled up on the ground, balancing on his forearm and gaping at the empty clearing. His heart is racing, blood rushing in his ears, and he honestly cannot believe he’s still alive.

His memory starts to piece together the events of the past few moments, replaying the salient details, trying to make sense of each element as the adrenaline starts to fade and time slows around him again. He latches onto that bolt of air above him, the shout that rang behind him. He turns, body still trembling, looking behind him to the source of the arrow that saved him.

And there is Mickey, a bow dangling from one hand and an expression of perfect incredulity plastered across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, you fucking idiot?”

Ian feels a rush of hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat, but he swallows it down. He stares at Mickey for another instant before collapsing flat on his back, staring up at the trees and breathing in deep lungfuls of air to try and calm himself down.

“Hey!” Mickey calls, an edge of concern creeping into his tone as Ian just continues to lie there silently. He kicks at Ian’s side lightly, and Ian reaches out to wrap a hand around Mickey’s ankle, pressing his fingers into Mickey’s skin through the fabric of his trousers, grounding himself. Mickey shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t pull away from Ian’s grasp.

They stay like that for a minute, and as Ian’s breath finally begins to slow, he starts to stroke his thumb up and down Mickey’s ankle, relishing the contact even separated by clothing. Mickey squirms and finally shakes Ian’s hand off, circling around his prone form and moving into the clearing.

Ian pushes himself up into a sitting position, taking in his surroundings. There is no trace of the monster, the clearing peaceful and undisturbed again.

“Where did it go?” He asks, staring up at Mickey, who’s glancing around at the trees to the side.

“Who knows,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Grapwyns do that. Just disappear when they’re mortally wounded. That’s how you know it’s out for the count. If it’s just lyin’ still, you ain’t done. Gotta make sure it vanishes.”

Ian nods dumbly, filing the information away for hopefully never again.

“You ok?” Mickey asks softly, eyes trained on his boots. Ian feels a smile forming, charmed by Mickey’s bashfulness.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly. “You saved me. Holy fuck, Mickey. You saved my fucking life.”

Mickey lifts one shoulder brusquely, toeing at the grass beneath his feet. He clears his throat, finally meeting Ian’s eyes.

“You gonna tell me what the fuck you were doing all the way out here, other than tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

“I wasn’t – I mean, I – I was looking for you.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ian offers weakly. Mickey’s eyebrows shoot even higher, and Ian winces at his complete lack of suaveness. “To apologize,” he amends, hoping to save the situation with at least some dignity intact.

“What, for robbing my house? Nearly killing half the damn kingdom? Or coming out here unarmed and helpless like a fucking idiot and making me save your ass, _again_?”

“I wasn’t unarmed,” Ian mutters.

“That so?”

“I have a knife,” he insists, reaching into his bag to find the item in question. At last, his fingers close around it, buried beneath his balled-up jacket. He pulls out the blade and offers it to Mickey.

“That’s not a knife, that’s a fuckin’ toothpick,” Mickey grumbles, holding the modest knife daintily, mouth pursed in disdain.

“It’s a good knife!” Ian maintains.

“Yeah, for dinner, maybe,” Mickey smirks, tossing it back to Ian. “A knife’s a useless fucking weapon out here anyway. By the time you get close enough to use it, you’re already dead.”

“Is that why you have that?” Ian gestures to the bow now looped over Mickey’s left shoulder.

“Long range,” Mickey shrugs. “Gives you options. It’s a smart weapon.” He glances pointedly at the knife in Ian’s hand.

“Could you teach me?”

Mickey freezes, lips parted, and Ian doesn’t know which of the two of them is more surprised at the question. He hadn’t meant to ask it, but now that he has, he wants it, wants to learn from Mickey, watch him, gods, just be near him. Ian swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

After a moment, Mickey shakes off his surprise, crossing his arms over his chest. “You want me to teach you how to shoot?”

“Yeah,” Ian agrees, his enthusiasm peaking at the notion.

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“It’s like you said,” Ian avers, “It’s a better weapon out here. If I knew how to shoot, you wouldn’t have to save me anymore.”

“Or you could just stop coming into the damn woods,” Mickey fires back.

Ian smiles but doesn’t answer. Mickey rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave me the fuck alone? Or can you not remember as far back as yesterday?”

Ian sobers. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…I needed to tell you that we didn’t mean for any of that to happen. You were right, we didn’t think. It was stupid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey says, mouth pursed in annoyance. “None of this is news to me. You two are idiots, you fucked up. We went over all this. So why are you here?”

Ian looks down, his cheeks heating in shame. “There’s something else. Lip – we – we took something. I didn’t know we still had it, but we do. Gold. We stole some gold, and Lip brought it down with us, and we’re gonna use it.”

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, exhaling a slow, measured breath. “Fucking hell, Gallagher.”

“I know,” Ian rushes to reassure him. “I told them we shouldn’t keep it, I feel fucking awful about it, but we need the money – ”

“Just leave it,” Mickey mutters morosely. “It is what it is. Why are you telling me this?”

“I just thought you should know,” Ian admits meekly.

“I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want anything to do with you fucking Gallaghers anymore. I’ve done my part, I’m done.”

“No,” Ian insists forcefully. “Don’t say that. Please.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mickey asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Do you not understand what this is? I was sent to get your sister to the ball. That’s it. I did that. Fuck, I did _more_ than that.  But the second it hit midnight on the third night, my job was done. I don’t know why you expect me to keep hanging around.”

Ian scrambles to his feet, taking a few hasty steps towards Mickey. “That’s _not_ all this is,” Ian says vehemently.

“What is it, then?”

Ian splutters for a minute before setting his jaw. “Mandy,” he fires back. “We’re friends. Don’t tell me you want to take that away from her.”

Mickey grumbles a bit, but doesn’t argue. Ian moves forward a little, taking his chances.

“And you and I,” he continues, voice pitching lower. “We…”

Mickey looks up at him through his eyelashes, and Ian’s heart stutters a little. His throat is suddenly very dry.

“We, uh,” Ian mutters. Mickey’s eyebrows lift a little at his hesitance. “We’re…friends too.” Ian finishes lamely. He resists the urge to bury his face in his hands at his own cowardice.

“We’re not fucking friends,” Mickey scoffs.

“We could be,” Ian supplies hopefully.

“No, we couldn’t,” Mickey maintains. “That’s not how this works. You think I keep in touch with everybody I’m sent to? Fuck no. I’m not even supposed to see you again.”

“I don’t think that’s in the rules,” Ian says, inching closer.

“Fuck the rules.”

“Exactly,” Ian murmurs huskily. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how close he’s standing, just a foot or so away from Mickey. He can feel heat radiating from Mickey, that electricity that always seems to crackle between them when they’re near. Mickey bites his lower lip, and Ian’s eyes follow the movement raptly.

Ian feels like he can barely breathe, heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears, and he sways forward just an inch. Mickey starts, taking a step back and shaking his head minutely, as if to clear it. Ian deflates a little, but lets him go.

“You’re impossible, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbles, but Ian thinks he hears an edge of fondness creeping into his tone.

“So are you,” Ian answers simply. “But here we are.”

Mickey presses his lips together, fighting a smile, and warmth expands in Ian’s chest. “Alright, fine. You can come to the house to see Mandy, but only when she tells you she wants you to. But don’t bring your fucking brother. And don’t _tell_ him you’re coming or he’ll follow you.” Ian nods, opening his mouth, but Mickey cuts him off. “And yes, I will show you a few things about how to shoot. But only the basics, and only when I feel like it, and you’ll have to actually listen to what I tell you for fucking once. And don’t come this deep into the woods alone again!”

“Anything else?” Ian asks, grinning helplessly.

“Yeah. Stop fucking lookin’ at me like that,” Mickey grumbles.

“I’ll try,” Ian replies, not trying at all.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Ok, come on. Time to go home.” He takes off, and Ian follows him dutifully, warring between his desire to be next to Mickey and the urge to hang back and enjoy the view from behind.

Mickey makes the decision for him by calling back a sharp “hurry the fuck up, Gallagher,” over his shoulder. Ian jogs to catch up, shooting him a sideways look and trying not to smile too widely.

As they get closer to the trees around Mickey’s house, Mickey starts to veer, curving their path out wider to avoid coming into sight of the cottage. Ian furrows his brow, but doesn’t comment.

Mickey marches them on, strides sure, and Ian struggles to keep up despite his longer legs. It’s clear that Mickey knows the forest well, ducking under branches and around bushes with the ease and grace of familiarity. Ian can’t help but admire the way he moves, and stumbles more than a few times because he’s too busy watching Mickey to mind his own feet.

Finally, they breach the clearing where the knotted willow presides, and Mickey halts. “You should be good from here. Go straight home. It’s getting late.”

Ian can feel a chill settling in the air, sensing the sun setting above the thick canopy of trees. He knows it’s wise to get out of the woods before dark, but he’s reluctant to leave, altogether too content to be with Mickey. He has to go, though, so he adjusts the strap of his satchel across his shoulder and nods.

“Thanks, Mick. For everything.”

“Just don’t get eaten by anything on the way home, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” Ian promises.

He backs away slowly, unwilling to tear his eyes away from Mickey’s face. Mickey leans against the trunk of the willow, and the sight is so appealing that Ian feels a physical pull to move closer. He resists, though, and turns away before he does something phenomenally stupid. He walks forward swiftly, the buzz of Mickey’s presence fading away as he goes. The woods thin out as he presses on, and he spills out into the open field just as the sun is ducking below the horizon.

Fiona is preparing dinner when he slips inside, and she gives him a curious look.

“Where ya been?” She asks, tone deceptively light.

“Just out,” Ian says, swiping a carrot off the counter as he passes.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, Fi, I’m good,” Ian assures her, relishing the truth of the statement, marveling at the difference between how he felt this morning and how he feels now.

Fiona just nods and returns to the vegetables, and Ian drops his satchel in his room before returning to help her, all the while debating with himself about whether tomorrow is too soon to take Mickey up on his offer. It probably is. But somehow he knows that won’t stop him.

~

The next day, though, Fiona sends him into town for flour, and by the time he’s finished bartering with the baker, it’s well into the afternoon. He glares moodily at the sinking sun, knowing he can’t start his journey into the woods this late. Even if he made it to Mickey’s house unscathed, Mickey would probably slam the door in his face for his foolishness. Frankly, the thought of Mickey’s inexplicably adorable scowl makes it almost worth the trip, but he knows better than to be in the woods after dark, no matter how much he craves Mickey’s company.

After dinner, however, his plans start to shift. He’s itching to see Mickey again, but his worry for Mandy has crept into his mind too, gaining force, and by the next morning, his urge to check on her is overpowering. It’s not that he thinks that anything has happened to her, but he can’t get the image of her panicked expression the day before out of his head. He needs to reassure himself that she’s alright.

He’s tasked with finding and chopping firewood after breakfast, and he blazes through the job with such speed and focus that he finishes in record time. His arms are shaking and sore for his efforts, but his afternoon is now wide open, and he heads for the woods the moment Fiona has given him leave.

He knows he’s a bit early, so he pauses at the knotted willow, snacking on some carrots and leaning against the tree. When he estimates that about an hour has gone by, he heads towards the brook, hoping that Mandy’s father will be well on his way to whatever tavern he frequents. Ian can only hope that he and Frank will meet there and take each other out somehow.

When Mandy answers the door, she smiles at him sheepishly, and Ian’s shoulders release some built-up tension he didn’t even know he was holding. “Hey,” he sighs, grateful when Mandy opens the door wider for him to enter.

“Hey,” she answers. “I’m sorry about yesterday. My dad left later than usual, and you caught me by surprise.”

“It’s ok,” Ian promises. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It wasn’t you,” Mandy insists. But then her expression turns harder. “I heard about what you did, though. Your brother’s an asshole.”

“I know,” Ian mutters guiltily.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know that too.”

Mandy glares at him for another moment, and Ian stays quiet, knowing he deserves her ire. She takes him by surprise, though, when she speaks up again, tone hushed.

“What was it like? Up there?”

Ian stares at her, wondering if this is a trap. But Mandy seems genuinely curious, looking up at him with wide, open eyes, and he feels some of the excitement he’d buried under his remorse flutter up.

“It was…” he begins cautiously, waiting for a sign of disapproval, and seeing nothing. “Amazing,” he continues. “It was incredible, Mandy.”

She smiles, small but genuine, and she takes his hand. “Tell me about it?”

She pulls him to the chairs by the fireplace, and he spends the next few hours regaling her with all the details of his wild and wondrous adventure. She’s an attentive listener, fascinated with this new world he had experienced, and he finds himself reliving it all through her reactions. The parts with the giant are harder to tell, the simmering shame at what they’d done still difficult to come to terms with, but Mandy puts her hand on his knee sympathetically, and Ian feels better afterwards having told someone. At the end of his tale, Mandy isn’t looking at him like he’s a murderer, and it eases something sharp and painful in his chest.

It’s nearly evening, and Ian knows it’s time for him to head home, but he keeps glancing at the door in the hope that Mickey will burst through. He just wants a quick glimpse, only enough to tide him over for another long night, but Mandy packs him up and shoos him out the door before he can come up with any sort of excuse for his lingering. Ian sighs and heads home. Two days really isn’t a particularly long time to go without seeing someone. So why does he feel such longing already?

For his own sake, he doesn’t let himself answer his own question.

~

Sure enough, the moment he’s finished his chores the next day, he’s trekking out into the woods again. He skirts around the house, knowing that if he knocks he’ll get sucked into conversation with Mandy, and today he has set his mind on Mickey. He has no idea where to find him, though, and is more than aware that wandering off past the house on his own is expressly against one of Mickey’s many rules. He idles about 100 yards beyond the cottage, trying to figure out what his next move should be.

He knows marching carelessly forward with no plan is a fast track to running into another Grapwyn, or worse. But even if he did return to the house, Mickey never seems to be home, and he certainly doesn’t tell Mandy where he’s going when he’s out. Ian strums his fingers against his thigh, scouring the woods around him for any sign of the elusive boy.

He comes up empty, and he’s about to throw caution to the wind and just start searching when a voice rings out to his left.

“So why is it that you’re so intent on using me as a teacher?” Mickey drawls, “Since you’re clearly incapable of taking my directions?”

Ian blushes, turning to find Mickey leaning against a tree, deftly spinning a coin between his fingers. “I guess I have a lot to learn?”

Mickey raises one eyebrow, pushing off of the tree and slowly approaching Ian. “You sure that’s what you want?”

 _I want you_ , Ian’s mind immediately supplies. For a moment, he frets that fairy godmothers can read minds, but Mickey’s expression remains unchanged, still looking at Ian wryly.

“Worth a shot, right?” Ian offers meekly. Mickey rolls his eyes, pocketing the coin he’s fiddling with.

“Come on, then,” he sighs, turning and walking away without so much as a glance back to see if Ian is following. He is, of course, trailing Mickey’s footsteps and admiring Mickey’s casual saunter.

They walk for a solid ten minutes before Ian hears running water. The brook must loop around and continue, and indeed within a moment they reach the banks. They stride across, the cool water splashing against their ankles, and about thirty yards beyond the brook, Mickey halts.

Ian takes in his surroundings, noting that they’ve come to a sort of oblong clearing, edged in by trees, soft grass blanketing the ground. Though he can still spot the brook in the distance through the trees, there’s something private about this place, sheltered from the woods around it. A target is pinned up to one of the trees on the far end of the clearing, and there’s a haphazard structure in the corner to Ian’s left that almost looks like a makeshift fort, open at the sides but covered. There’s an odd collection of items littering the ground beneath the fort’s roof: a stack of books, a knife, candles, some broken arrows, and what Ian’s pretty sure is a left shoe. Where the right one might be is anyone’s guess.

Mickey’s not looking at him, but Ian can see a slight tension in his jaw, like he’s bracing himself for something. He almost looks nervous, hands stuffed in his pockets and feet shuffling around the grass. It dawns on Ian rather belatedly that this must be the place where Mickey goes when no one knows where he is. From the looks of it, he’s been coming here for a long time. Ian’s shock that Mickey has brought him here to see it is only slightly lesser than the rush of gratitude and affection that floods him.

“This place is awesome,” Ian admires.

“Whatever. Has a target.” Mickey says gruffly, moving to the side and grabbing a bow that’s perched against a tree trunk. Ian looks it up and down, admiring the sleek surface, the elegant arc of the wood.

“Where did you get that?”

“Made it,” Mickey shrugs, looping a quiver around his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” Ian says reverently. “Is that what I’m gonna learn on?”

“Fuck no,” Mickey scoffs. “You can’t handle a bow like this yet. You’d kill yourself on the first shot. Hell, you’d probably kill me.”

“Can you even be killed?” Ian asks curiously, unsure about the nature of fairies.

“Yeah, Gallagher,” Mickey replies quietly, pulling an arrow out of the quiver. “I can be killed.”

He notches the arrow into the bow and draws back, the wood curving smoothly as he stretches the string taut. With a flick of his fingers, he lets go, the string snapping forward, and with a soft whoosh the arrow launches, gliding across the clearing effortlessly and embedding in the center of the target.

“Holy shit,” Ian breathes, staring at the arrow gently shuddering in the tree trunk. Mickey doesn’t say anything, but he can’t hide the pleased smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

He strides over to the target, yanking the arrow out of the bark and slipping it into the quiver on his back before returning to Ian. “C’mere,” he murmurs, and Ian goes instantly, spellbound.

“This right here,” Mickey continues, fingers glancing over a notch carved into the top of the bow, “this is the nock. That’s where you attach the string.”

Ian nods, committing the information to memory. Mickey proceeds to describe each feature of the bow and arrows, hands skimming deftly over the objects to point out the details. Ian listens with rapt attention, eager to learn, even more eager to watch Mickey explain every element. Mickey talks fluidly and passionately about the subject, cataloguing the varieties of bows and what differences each structural adjustment makes to the trajectory of the arrow. His face takes on a keen, enthusiastic expression as he speaks, and Ian can’t help but glance away from the equipment Mickey’s describing every few moments to gaze at him.

When Mickey has gone through the basics, he grabs another bow stashed against a tree. This one is simpler, less elegant, but still well made. Mickey hands the bow to Ian, who accepts it dumbly.

“Wanna try?”

Ian clears his throat, suddenly nervous. “What do I do?”

Mickey swipes an arrow from the quiver before moving over to Ian. “Ok, stand here,” he orders, wrapping his hand around Ian’s upper arm and pulling him over a few feet. “Put your left hand there,” he points. “Now these fingers on the string, like this,” he says, holding up two fingers and crooking them just so. Ian imitates the movement, hooking two fingers around the string.

Mickey leans forward, notching the arrow and setting Ian’s fingers around the shaft. “Ok, ready? Draw back.”

Ian pulls, surprised at the force it takes to curve the bow. He pauses, his forearm straining, until Mickey utters a firm “Let go.” He releases his fingers, the string springing back into place with a muted twang. The arrow shoots forward, canting wildly to the left and sailing straight past the tree with the target.

“Fuck,” Ian exhales, dropping his arms. Mickey chuckles beside him.

“It’s ok. Happens to everyone on their first go. Try again.”

Ian repeats the motion a few more times, each arrow finding some new and creative way to entirely miss the target. He’s starting to feel frustrated, his arms shaking from the unfamiliar effort, but Mickey’s voice is soothing, coaching Ian through each step and offering suggestions and adjustments. Just as Ian’s beginning to despair, one of his arrows hits the very corner of the flimsy cloth posted to the tree. It’s not even anywhere near the target, well outside the outermost circle, but Ian still calls out in triumph.

“Not bad, Gallagher,” Mickey grins. “There may be hope for you yet.”

Ian beams at Mickey, soaking in his praise and the thrill of his achievement.

“That’s enough for today,” Mickey determines. “Your arms are going to be sore as hell tomorrow. Have fun with that.”

Ian doesn’t care if he can barely move tomorrow, so long as Mickey keeps looking at him with that warm gleam in his eyes.

Mickey retrieves the arrow from the tree before stashing the equipment, and all too soon they’re heading back towards the cottage in comfortable silence. Mickey brings him around the cottage again, and they stop just short of the knotted willow.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Ian asks, unable to stem his eagerness.

“Fuck no. You’re not gonna want to shoot tomorrow, trust me.” Ian highly doubts that, no matter what pain awaits him in the morning, but he doesn’t try to argue with Mickey. “Give it a few days.”

Ian nods, reluctant to leave Mickey again. But Mickey waves his hand vaguely towards the woods beyond, indicating that Ian should head out, and Ian obeys, muttering a quiet “Bye, Mick,” as he turns and exits the clearing. He flexes his fingers as he walks, chasing the memory of Mickey’s hand upon them. His muscles are already tightening by the time he reaches the Gallagher cottage, but every pull reminds him of the look in Mickey’s eyes when Ian’s arrow finally hit the tree. It’s worth every bit of pain.

~

Mickey’s right, of course, and Ian’s arms and shoulders are screaming the next morning. Fiona looks at him inquisitively as he winces every time he reaches for something, but he doesn’t elaborate on the source of his discomfort. He wants to keep his arrangement with Mickey private, away from questions and knowing looks. He wants it to be just his.

The price of the secret is a complicated balancing act, though. He can’t spend all his time in the woods, as much as he wants to – he still has responsibilities at home, and he can’t leave Fiona to manage everything without him. So he develops a schedule: one day he spends with Mandy, the next with Mickey, and the third at home. His siblings notice his absence, but they don’t comment when he slips out after he’s completed his daytime chores. Frankly, he’s never been so efficient in his life.

He thinks Lip must know where he’s going, judging by the looks he shoots him in the evenings sometimes. But things are still a bit strained between them. Ian’s not even sure if he’s all that mad anymore, but once he’s begun the process of cold-shouldering, he’s never quite sure how to come out of it. For now, he shrugs it off. He doesn’t like the distance between them, but if he’s honest, it’s a lot easier to spend more time with Mickey and Mandy when his brother isn’t interfering. He’ll sort things out with Lip later.

In the meantime, his relationship with Mandy flourishes. They spend their afternoons drinking tea and exchanging stories. Turns out Mandy’s brothers are just as wild and scattered as Ian’s own siblings, and she has a whole host of tales of their misadventures that reduce Ian to a giggling mess. Some of her stories have curious gaps in them, like she’s leaving bits and pieces out, and Ian has the sneaking suspicion those details have to do with her parents, her ominous father and enigmatic mother. But he never presses, unwilling to upset the ease she seems to feel when Ian’s around.

Mickey’s harder to read, but Ian takes every crumb he offers, collecting each half-smile or approving look and storing them in the cache of memories he treasures. He’s starting to feel like a dragon, greedily hoarding every glance Mickey shoots his way. But he doesn’t think he’s imagining it when Mickey’s smiles start to come more easily, his casual touches more frequent. Bit by bit, Mickey begins to share more personal information, deviating from the lesson plan with mentions of how he made some bow or what scrapes he’d gotten himself into and out of in the woods. Ian listens intently to each story, lapping up every bit of this boy that he can get.

It’s also a strange form of torture, being this close to Mickey so often. Ian has long since given up on trying to fool himself that this is anything less than an ardent crush, bordering on infatuation in its strength. Mickey is constantly in his thoughts, simmering in the background when he’s busy, buzzing in the forefront when he’s idle, and he finds that he falls asleep every night to fevered visions of soft lips and agile fingers. The electric current of their skin has only intensified, every brush of Mickey’s fingers against his causing heat to coil low in his stomach, his toes curling. He has to grit his teeth to stop himself from throwing the bow down and pinning Mickey to a tree for a whole new kind of target practice.

He can’t afford to make a move, though. Even if Mickey likes boys – and sometimes Ian’s so sure he does, when Mickey’s eyes linger just a little too long on his lips, gods, please let him be right, _please_ – there’s no guarantee that Mickey likes Ian. Or wants Ian. Or wants to touch Ian and fuck Ian and talk to Ian and be with Ian. All the things Ian wants with Mickey. Fuck, he wants them so badly he can hardly see straight.

Still, he doesn’t want to risk doing something and ruining the tentative friendship he’s carving out with Mickey. Mickey in any context is rapidly becoming essential to Ian’s happiness. And if that means that he’s spending more time than ever in a secluded corner of the woods with his right hand, so be it.

He’s still hungry for information, though, about Mickey and magic and their strange life in the woods. So one afternoon, he tries to raise the subject with Mandy, sipping tea and staring into the fireplace.

“So with magic,” he begins hesitantly. “Is it, like, something you need to practice, or…”

Mandy shoots him an exasperated look, but it’s fond too, so Ian thinks the conversation might go better this time around. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“I don’t know,” Ian shrugs. “It’s just – magic was always this thing from storybooks, and now it’s real, and I want to understand it?”

“Some things can’t be understood,” Mandy replies.

“No,” Ian acquiesces, “But you mention the rules sometimes. What are they?”

Mandy wraps her hands around her mug, looking down into her tea. “Honestly? We’re not totally sure. We’ve never been that involved in the fairy world.”

“Why not?” Ian presses, mind suddenly filled with fantastical visions of fairy courts and enchanted forests.

“My dad couldn’t be a part of it, so we didn’t really have a lot of chances. My mom lived here with us, and most of us didn’t end up magical. I guess we’re just more human than fairy.”

“Not Mickey, though,” Ian murmurs.

“Not Mickey.” Mandy confirms.

“Did your mom ever talk about the – the fairy world?” Ian asks, stumbling over the terminology.

“Sometimes. Not a lot,” Mandy says, eyes taking on a faraway look. “I think she missed it. When I was really little, she used to tell me about her family and all the magic they’d do for people. My dad overheard her once, though, and she stopped telling those stories after that. It was so long ago, maybe I just made them up.”

Her eyes are sad when she turns her gaze back to Ian, and his heart constricts a little. He doesn’t want to ask his next question, but he has to know.

“Your mom, is she,” he trails off, grimacing.

Mandy knows what he’s not saying, though. “Yeah. She died when I was 8.”

Ian stays quiet, his stomach sinking. He’d been fostering a futile hope that maybe their mother was just somewhere else, like his was. But he’d known that to be a pipe dream. He can tell by the way that Mandy talks about her that their mom loved them too much to abandon them. Like Ian’s did.

“I’m sorry,” Ian mumbles helplessly.

Mandy shrugs. “Not your fault.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in thoughts of missing mothers and disappointing fathers. When Ian leaves a few hours later, he hugs Mandy a little tighter than usual, hoping she understands that even with everything she’s lost, she won’t lose him.

~

The next time he meets Mickey for shooting practice, though, he can’t get the subject of their mother off his mind. For Mandy, her mother was family, but for Mickey, she also represents his heritage, the world he was born into. Understanding her means understanding part of what makes Mickey himself, and Ian wants all of it.

He watches as Mickey strings up a bow, focused and easy. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic, so as usual, he ends up saying the first random thing that comes to mind.

“Did your mom teach you how to do this?”

“Huh?” Mickey asks, eyebrows shooting up in confusion.

“Archery,” Ian continues, somewhat sheepishly. “Did she teach you all this?”

“No,” Mickey answers, looking at Ian like he’s an imbecile. “Why would she?”

“I don’t know,” Ian shrugs. “I just figured, you’re a fairy, she was a fairy. She probably taught you stuff.”

“I’m half,” Mickey mutters, like a habit. “And no. Archery has nothing to do with all that. Don’t be an idiot.”

“What did she teach you?” Ian tries, sliding into his point at an angle.

Mickey’s face hardens. “What the fuck are you asking stupid questions for?”

“Just wanted to know more about magic,” Ian mumbles.

“Yeah, well, leave it alone.”

“Why?” Ian challenges, his rebellious streak flaring. “Why shouldn’t I ask you about this stuff?”

“I’m serious, Gallagher,” Mickey grits out. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Why not?” Ian cries, throwing his hands up. “I want to learn about you, Mickey. I want to understand this whole part of you that you never mention but is always there. Magic is in you, Mick, it’s why we met. Is it so crazy that I’d want to hear more about it?”

“It’s not relevant,” Mickey insists stubbornly. “It doesn’t affect you, not anymore. Askin’ about it’s just asking for trouble. Why you gotta be so damn curious all the time?”

“Because I want to know you! I fucking care about you, alright? So I want to hear about your mom and your past and the things that you do, because it’s important to you, so it matters to me too!”

Ian huffs out a harsh breath, his heartbeat racing in the aftermath of his tirade. Mickey is glaring at him, jaw set in a hard line.

“I don’t know what you think this is, Gallagher, but you’re wrong. I don’t owe you anything. You and Mandy wanna swap life stories, fucking fine, but I don’t have to tell you shit. I told you this wasn’t supposed to go past the festival, but you fucking insisted. Just cause I let you hang around, doesn’t make this more than what it is. Get that through your fucking head.”

“Mick,” Ian chokes out, heart clenching painfully.

“Yeah, we’re fucking done for the day,” Mickey grinds out, tossing the bow towards the fort in the corner.

“But we haven’t – ”

“Done.”

Mickey marches off without a word, leaving Ian standing frozen in the clearing, gazing helplessly after him. He fucked up, he knows he did, and his stomach is bubbling with anxiety that he has broken this beyond repair. He promised himself he wouldn’t push Mickey. But his desires overrode his rationality, as usual. He feels tears start to sting at his eyes, but he blinks them back. Still, it’s a long while before he heads for home again, feeling more alone than ever without Mickey by his side.

~

The next day is miserable, Ian replaying his fight with Mickey over and over again, berating himself for every misstep. He doesn’t know if his arrangement with Mickey is over, or if he just needs to give him some time to cool down. He almost heads for the woods countless times, but for once, he thinks he should give Mickey some space.

He looks for signs of tension or disapproval when he visits Mandy the next day, but she seems blissfully unaware that anything out of the ordinary has occurred. Then again, she also has no idea that Ian and Mickey are even spending any time together. Ian has felt guilty in the past about keeping it from her, but now he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to answer to her about their disagreement.

He tries to keep his glum mood from being too obvious, but Mandy picks up on his moroseness. She does her best to cheer him up, and it works to a point, but he feels all tangled up, so close to Mickey’s room but all too aware that Mickey is far away. By the time he leaves the cottage, his emotions are so jumbled up that he’s amazed he doesn’t get lost on his way home, barely taking note of his surroundings as he trudges back sullenly.

He’s not entirely sure that Mickey will be at the clearing when he heads into the woods the next day, but he forges ahead, trying to stem the panic that rises with every step he takes. The relief he feels is a tangible thing when he crosses into the clearing to see Mickey leaning against a tree, idly playing with an arrow.

“Hey,” Ian breathes, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Hey,” Mickey mutters, his tone guarded but not angry.

“About yesterday,” Ian rushes out, moving forward. Mickey holds up a hand to halt him.

“Just leave it, alright? You wanna try the crossbow today?”

Ian nods mutely, trying not to feel too put out. Mickey’s not looking at him quite right, but he’s here, and that’s so much more than Ian had dared to hope for. After a few hours, Mickey has eased up a bit, even shooting Ian a few tentative smiles when he hits the target. It makes Ian feel warm all over.

Mickey walks him to the knotted willow again, and Ian sleeps better that night than he has in days.

~

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ian exclaims, throwing his bow away in frustration.

It’s been a few weeks since their fight, and Ian is starting to make real progress with his archery. At least, that’s what Mickey tells him. But he can’t seem to hit the fucking target today, and it’s driving him mad.

“Just relax,” Mickey chuckles, slouched against a tree beside the fort. “You’re overthinking. Just chill out and try again.”

Ian huffs, but retrieves his bow and notches another arrow. This one sails beyond the tree and disappears into the distance, even more off course than the previous arrow.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Ian yells, coming just shy of stomping his feet.

“Go again,” Mickey orders, infuriatingly calm.

“What’s the fucking point?” Ian grits out. “It’s useless. I’m only getting worse.” He flounces over to Mickey and slumps down beside him petulantly.

Mickey just laughs at him, and Ian is torn between hitting him or kissing him to shut him up.

“You going try again or are you just gonna pout all day?” Mickey asks, lips still twitching upwards.

“I’m not pouting,” Ian insists testily. “I’m legitimately annoyed that weeks of hard work have led to nothing.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “It hasn’t lead to nothing. Don’t be so fucking dramatic.” Ian purses his lips peevishly, and Mickey sighs. “Look, you’re getting in your own head, getting mad at yourself, and it’s making your shoulders tense, throwing off your stance. Take a breath, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and go again.”

Ian scowls at Mickey, but relents at his look. “Fine,” he grumbles, clambering to his feet. He takes a deep inhale, breathing out slowly to relax his shoulder muscles. He closes his eyes, listening to the trickle of the brook, the soft sounds of the woods around him. Then he hears something else, and his eyes snap open.

“What was that?” He asks, unease creeping up his spine. Then he hears it again: a crackle of twigs, and a dragging shuffle.

Mickey’s looking off through the trees at the end of the clearing, and Ian follows his gaze. He sees a shape in the darkness, hunching and shuddering towards them. As it gets closer, it starts to materialize, and Ian curses as a Grapwyn emerges from the shadows, lumbering towards the clearing.

Mickey stands slowly, and Ian backs up, edging behind Mickey to let him take care of the monster trudging nearer. But Mickey looks over his shoulder and waves a casual hand towards the approaching creature.

“You’re up, Gallagher.”

Ian gapes at him for a minute, brain unable to comprehend his meaning. Another snap of leaves sounds out, closer now, and his voice returns in a rush. “What?!”

“Come on,” Mickey says, and he has the fucking nerve to _smile_. “Get to it.”

“Mickey, what the fuck?” Ian cries, panicked. “I can’t – just – _Mickey!_ ”

Mickey chuckles, and Ian thinks he might shoot him instead of the Grapwyn if he weren’t so damn frightened.

“Getting closer,” Mickey shrugs. “Whatcha gonna do?”

Ian’s going to argue, frankly, but then the Grapwyn slithers into the clearing, and there isn’t time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ian mutters, scrambling back to get some distance while he whips an arrow out of the quiver on his back. He notches the bow with shaking hands, drawing back just as the Grapwyn starts to pick up speed.

The arrow arcs too high, the creature barely taking notice of it. Ian swears and grabs another arrow, shooting quickly. This one grazes one of the monster’s flanks, and it snarls. Then it spots Mickey, off to the side but closer, and angles towards him.

Ian’s vision zeroes in on the hulking thing charging Mickey, his hands moving automatically to notch a third arrow. Without a thought, he shoots, and this time the arrow sinks firmly into the creature’s side. It shrieks, momentum stuttering, and Ian doesn’t blink, only pulls out another arrow and shoots again. The last arrow strikes square into its skull, and it falters just a few feet away from Mickey, pink smoke erupting and coiling around it until it vanishes without a trace.

Ian stands frozen for a moment, adrenaline coursing through his veins, struggling to regulate his breathing in the sudden quiet of the clearing. Mickey grins at him, entirely too calm given what just happened.

“Nice work, Gallagher. Told you you could do it.”

Ian gawks at Mickey, floored by his nonchalance. “What the fuck,” he mutters, voice scratching against his dry throat. “Mickey, what the _fuck_?”

“You just needed something to take your mind off the little details, focus on the big picture,” Mickey says casually. “Lucky that thing showed up when it did.”

“Lucky? _Lucky?_ ” Ian splutters, looking around the clearing for something, anything that might make more sense than the boy in front of him. “What if I’d missed? What if I hadn’t been fast enough? We could have been killed!”

“Chill, man. You did it. Take the victory, huh?”

Ian’s mind is reeling, scrambling to catch up with the events of the last few minutes. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, releasing his death grip on the bow and dropping it to the ground, ducking out of the quiver slung across his shoulders and running his freed up hands through his hair. “Fuck. I did it.” He looks up at Mickey, smile pulling at his lips. “I did it!”

“Yeah you did,” Mickey grins back.

Ian’s smile falls to a scowl as a fresh wave of disbelief washes over him. “You fucking asshole!”

Mickey laughs, and Ian strides up to him in a few long steps, pushing against his chest roughly. Mickey stumbles back a foot, but his jovial expression stays firmly in place, a tinge of pride maybe just visible in his eyes.

Ian feels wild, completely at sea, and Mickey is staggeringly beautiful. “You fucking idiot,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing Mickey again, crowding him against a tree and kissing him.

It’s like time stops, the world zeroing in on the press of Mickey’s lips against his, Ian’s heart seizing in his chest as electricity rocks through him like an earthquake, Mickey’s mouth the epicenter. The kiss itself is almost chaste, just simple contact, but Ian feels it down to his toes.

Mickey pushes him away a second later, eyes wide. Ian feels a rush of panic at Mickey’s shocked expression. Fuck, he’d been wrong. He’d wanted this so much that he hadn’t let himself see the truth. Mickey didn’t want him. _Fuck_. Ian opens his mouth, about to apologize, to take it back, anything to keep Mickey from leaving. But then Mickey’s advancing forward, face set in determination, and without a word, he kisses Ian.

Every nerve ending in Ian’s skin sparks at the touch of Mickey’s lips, and Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, hauling him roughly against his chest. Mickey slides his hands up to Ian’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as he kisses him, and Ian can’t breathe. It’s everything he’s wanted, everything he’s been thinking about, dreaming about, but fuck, it’s so good, so much better than he ever could have imagined. Mickey’s lips are soft and warm, and the buzz Ian always feels at every brush of his skin amplifies tenfold, his body ablaze, pure want tugging deliciously at his belly.

Ian walks them forward until Mickey’s back hits the tree again, and he uses the leverage to move impossibly closer, plastering himself to Mickey and fitting their hips together. Mickey makes a low noise in the back of his throat, his lips parting, and Ian takes advantage, gliding his tongue against Mickey’s. They both groan at the contact, one of Mickey’s hands reaching up to grip Ian’s hair. Ian hums approvingly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

He grinds against Mickey slowly, painfully hard against his trousers, and Mickey gasps, biting at Ian’s lower lip. Ian can’t help but do it again, rolling his hips against Mickey’s, and Mickey breaks away from Ian’s mouth to moan. The sound goes straight to Ian’s cock, and he buries his face in Mickey’s neck, scraping his teeth against his pulse point before sucking at his skin. His breathing is coming in sharp gasps, his body overwhelmed by sensation, and when he slides his hands down to Mickey’s ass and presses their erections together, he sees stars.

Mickey yanks at Ian’s shirt impatiently, and Ian pulls back to tug it off, the momentary loss of contact with Mickey’s skin unbearable. He kisses him once more before tearing at Mickey’s shirt, hands clumsy in his haste. When he has successfully removed the garment, he takes a moment to gaze at Mickey, admiring the muscles of his chest beneath pale, smooth skin. Then Ian’s pushing forward again, and the press of their bare skin together threatens to undo him.

His hands are everywhere, desperate to touch every part of Mickey, and he can’t stop kissing him, starved for his lips. Mickey works a hand between them, fumbling with Ian’s trousers, and the moment he gets them open, he wraps a firm hand around Ian’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Ian pants, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s. Mickey strokes him, long and slow, and Ian moans helplessly, pleasure shooting through his veins. Mickey’s thumb swipes over the tip of his erection, and Ian’s eyelids flutter, so turned on it’s bordering on painful.

Mickey continues to stroke him, and Ian has to bite his lip to keep from whimpering. He feels impossibly close to coming just from this, all his years of sexual encounters suddenly erased, obliterated by the sheer force of Ian’s desire for Mickey. Mickey darts up to kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip, and Ian’s stomach tightens, his body right on the edge.

He forces himself to reach down and stall Mickey’s hand, and Mickey looks up at him, lips swollen, pupils blown in lust. The sight is so stunning that Ian’s mind shorts out for a second, and he rubs his thumb against Mickey’s lower lip. Mickey licks at the tip of Ian’s thumb before nipping at it, and Ian inhales a shuddering breath.

“Fuck, Mickey. Want you. Oh gods, I need to – I need…”

Mickey gazes at him, blue eyes pulling him in until he feels like he’s drowning. “Fuck me, Ian,” Mickey murmurs, voice husky, and truthfully, Ian doesn’t know how he manages to stay upright.

“Yes,” he mutters frantically, fingers scrabbling at Mickey’s trousers. “Fuck, yes, _now_ , Mickey,” he gasps, repeating his name like a prayer.

He manages to get Mickey’s trousers open despite his shaking hands, and one look at Mickey’s cock has Ian’s mouth watering. He wants to taste him, wants to do _everything_ to this boy, but the need to be inside him is too strong. He grasps Mickey’s cock, and Mickey sighs, the sound like music.

Ian could go on like this for a while, savoring the smooth skin of Mickey’s erection, but after a moment Mickey grips his wrist.

“Come on,” Mickey mumbles, pushing at Ian to back up. He goes reluctantly, and Mickey turns around, shoving his trousers down unceremoniously. Mickey’s ass is a thing of beauty, and Ian slides his palms down to cup it reverently.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Ian breathes, awed. “Fuck, Mick, you’re amazing.”

Mickey huffs, impatient and a little embarrassed at the admiration, and Ian feels a smile tug at him through his haze of lust. “You gonna stare all day or are you gonna get on me?” Mickey demands.

Ian presses forward in answer, plastering himself to Mickey’s back and reaching around to stroke his cock. Mickey mewls approvingly, pressing his ass back against Ian. Fuck, that’s good.

“How do I,” Ian trails off, grimacing at his awkwardness.

Mickey gets his message and snaps his fingers. A jar of something appears in his palm, and Ian doesn’t even question it, just reaches forward and dips his finger into whatever oil Mickey has conjured. He doesn’t care what sort of magical substance it is, so long as it leads to Ian fucking Mickey as soon as possible.

They both groan at the first push of Ian’s fingers, and Ian works Mickey open, marveling at the tight heat of him. After a minute, Mickey mutters, “C’mon, ’m ready,” and Ian pulls out his fingers, stroking some of the oil over his erection. Then he presses the tip of his cock against Mickey, pausing for just a second before pushing inside him.

The feeling is overwhelming, Mickey stretching and shaping around Ian’s cock, warm and slick and fucking incredible. Ian struggles to breath, his entire body vibrating with need, and he buries his face against Mickey’s neck, mouthing messily at his skin.

He takes a moment to adjust, one arm wrapped around Mickey’s chest, hand pressing to his heart. Eventually, Mickey starts to squirm, and Ian takes that as his cue to move.

He sets a slow rhythm, every groan and whine he evokes in Mickey hitting him like an arrow to the chest. He can’t stop touching Mickey, hands stroking and gliding against his skin, and he honestly doesn’t know how he ever lived without this.

Before long, his carefully measured pace starts to speed up, and Mickey braces his hands against the tree, pressing back to meet Ian on each thrust. The effect is fucking magical, and Ian moans pathetically, totally lost in this boy.

He reaches for Mickey’s cock, stroking him in time to the snap of his hips. He’s been teetering on the edge of orgasm for ages, but he has to make Mickey come, he has to make it good, so good, _sososo good, oh gods._

Mickey leans his head back against Ian’s shoulder, and Ian stares at him, captivated by Mickey’s parted lips, his eyelashes tickling his cheeks, the low sounds he’s making. Ian changes his angle a little and hits a spot that makes Mickey cry out, and Ian has to close his eyes to keep from coming right then and there.

Mickey’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, his fingers curling against the bark of the tree, and Ian knows he’s close. He thrusts harder, and Mickey arches against him. Ian latches his mouth to Mickey’s neck, hungry for the taste of his skin.

With a few more strokes of his hand against Mickey’s cock, Mickey’s coming, throwing his head back and calling out into the silence of the woods. Ian watches, enraptured, before sliding his hand up to Mickey’s chin and tilting his face to kiss him. Mickey opens his mouth against Ian’s easily, tongue sliding out to meet his, and it’s more than Ian can take. He comes hard, strangled cry muffled against Mickey’s lips.

They come down slowly, but Ian keeps kissing him, stroking Mickey’s cheek with his thumb. Eventually, though, he needs to breathe, and he pulls back reluctantly, pressing his forehead to Mickey’s temple.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs when he’s regained the ability to speak.

Mickey nods mutely, leaning back against Ian. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, holding him close and trying to stay upright on his shaking legs.

They stand like that for a moment, Ian drawing lazy circles against Mickey’s chest. Finally, Mickey breaks the silence, and Ian can feel the rumble of his voice through his fingertips.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Ian mutters. “I’ve just wanted this for so long.”

He hides his face against Mickey’s neck, immediately embarrassed by his confession. Mickey reaches up to stroke a hand through his hair, and Ian closes his eyes in contentment, instantly soothed by Mickey’s touch.

“How about we clean up, yeah?” Mickey asks after a minute, tugging gently at Ian’s hair.

Ian eases out of him gently, kissing Mickey’s shoulder when he winces a bit, still sensitive. Mickey tugs him over to the fort and grabs a cloth, toweling off before tossing it to Ian. Then he settles on the ground and stretches like a cat, groaning at the pull of his muscles. Ian watches him with what he’s sure is a hopelessly stupid smile before sprawling out on the grass and pulling Mickey down to lie next to him.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey grumbles, shifting around to get comfortable. Ian turns on his side, looping an arm around Mickey’s waist. “Are you still staring at me?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits.

“How long’s that gonna continue?”

“I don’t know,” Ian shrugs. “How long are you planning on being this gorgeous?”

“Fuck off, man,” Mickey murmurs, a faint blush tinting his cheeks.

“No,” Ian insists, nuzzling against him.

“Gods, you’re like a fucking puppy,” Mickey sighs, but he turns his head a little so that Ian can brush their noses together.

Ian kisses him, humming happily when Mickey tilts his chin up to meet him. “I meant it, you know,” he breathes when they part. “I’ve wanted this forever. You have no idea how much. I’ve been going crazy.”

“Yeah?” Mickey raises one eyebrow, lips curving upwards. “I may have thought about it once or twice myself.”

Ian beams at him, feeling warm all over. Mickey closes his eyes, and Ian snuggles against him, soaking in the heat of his skin. He falls asleep thinking that a thousand Grapwyns could descend upon them right now and it wouldn’t change the fact that this is the happiest he’s ever been.

 

**END OF PART TWO**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's Part Two! Stay tuned for the conclusion! Still a few twists and turns ahead. :)
> 
> Meanwhile, hit me up at [andcurioser](http://andcurioser.tumblr.com)!


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